Earth
by DoneAndDusted
Summary: The first in my 'Elementals' series, wherein the residents at the X-Mansion meet a family of very unusual mutants. Hank meets a woman who will change the course of his life, and those of the X-men, forever. Final chapter will be 'M'.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Earth

Series: Elementals Quartet

Rating: M

'Verse: AU, two years after the first movie.

Disclaimer: Sadly, only Gaia is mine. But if they ever want to get rid of Hank, they know where to find me…

Summary: The first in my Elementals series, wherein the residents at the X-Mansion meet a 'family' of very unusual mutants. Hank meets a woman who will change the course of his life, and those of the X-men, forever.

**A/N:** The poetry Hank quotes is by Ralph Waldo Emerson, it's not mine. Reviews would be much appreciated!

**Chapter 1**

It was gone midnight when Dr. Henry McCoy, genius, politician, mutant, made his way out the front door of the facility he had been working in for twelve sleepless hours. Tapping the locking sequence into the keypad glowing faintly in the wall with clawed, dexterous fingers, he lifted his briefcase in one vast hand and made his way towards the dark smudge of the forest. To his shame, he much preferred to travel through the trees in a bestial manner than by car, and it was part of the reason he was leaving the compound so late. He had been invited to view the final conclusions of a piece of medical research there, and had helped them tweak it into perfection, so that by the time he finished, he was alone.

Pausing just inside the woods, he carefully stripped off his neat suit, comfortable in his nakedness, folding the clothes and putting them in the briefcase, to be replaced by an old, worn pair of black shorts, their frayed ends just reaching his knees. Stretching the kinks from his spine, he snapped the locks shut, straightening up. Eying the canopy overhead for a moment, he lifted a foot and, perfectly balanced, gripping the briefcase in his toes, he leaped up and grasped a strong branch with one hand. He swung his body backwards for momentum, preparing to reach for the next handhold, when the distinct hum of car engines sounded behind him. His sensitive ears flicked as he absently hung there, puzzled by the approaching whine of the vehicles.

"A conundrum." He murmured, totally lost as to the identity of the people skirting the edge of the lab and heading in his direction.

With an agile twist of his body, he hooked his knees over the branch, still keeping a careful grasp of his briefcase, and lowered his torso to hang freely, gazing back in the direction of the buildings. His keen, yellow eyes picked out the shapes of three off-road vehicles, moving quickly towards the woods. An instinct, emerging from the primal part of him that had earned him his moniker with the X-men, stirred in warning, and he warily lifted himself, carefully throwing the case, which contained not only his most comfortable business suit but also vital notes on the development of the antidote he had just finished observing, up to a high branch of the tree. For a moment it teetered, looking like it was about to fall, but what must have been a breeze moved the branch below it slightly, and the precious cargo stilled.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Hank crouched on his branch, eyes narrowing as the cars drew to a halt. Several men began to disembark, congregating not twenty feet away, just outside the beginning of the wooded area. The moonlight gleamed along metal in their hands, and Hank went cold. They were carrying weapons. Despite the warning bells his survival instinct was now ringing with a vengeance, he remained frozen, their voices carrying in snatches to his ears.

"…went into the woods, saw him…"

"…spread out, hunt him down…"

"He can't have gone that far, we'll split…"

"Alright, move out!"

This last was barked harshly, and the men raised a ragged cheer before splitting into the three groups they'd arrived in. One group headed off to Hank's right, another to his left. The third group stood for a moment where they had gathered, before they turned and began checking their weapons. Hank silently turned and began to leap through the trees, his heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline making his limbs perfectly steady even as fear uncurled inside him. He was totally alone, it was nearly one o'clock in the morning, and he had at last recognised the shaven heads and fanatic violence of his pursuers.

His suspicions were confirmed when he heard another faint cheer and a choral chant behind him. "Down with the muties! Up with the FOH!"

Hearing this, Hank allowed himself to submit to his baser instincts. He swerved away from the course he had been following, moving off to his right. He was deep enough into the forest that it was almost totally dark, but the usual sounds of nocturnal animal activity were gone. The total silence made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, until his sharp ears at last caught the sound of the pack of hunters, moving clumsily through the forest. They were the smallest of the three groups, and the ones he would deal with first.

He moved like a ghost through the murky darkness, his blue coat blending in with the surreal quality of the shadows around him. He stalked them, nostrils flaring at the scent of gun oil and fear that they couldn't hide from him, and he bared his fangs in soundless disgust. His highly trained mind was busily churning out solutions, and he settled on the one that would be quietest; he didn't want to alert their companions that the hunters had become the hunted until it would be too late.

Dropping to the ground, he bounded over the distance between them on noiseless feet, launching himself at the group with a soft snarl. Almost as one, they turned, fumbling for their weapons in the dark. To their horror, Bill was already unconscious, the giant, blue creature which had taken him down already moving, their hands on their guns already too late.

One down, four to go, he told himself, landing on one stupefied man's chest with enough force to drive him to the floor. There was the wet crack of his skull on the hard ground, and he lay still. Three more. The biggest of his enemies, slightly behind the other two, finally raised his rifle, but with a rumbling growl, Beast jumped and grabbed a branch, swinging himself over the two shorter men and delivering a backhanded blow to their comrade that dropped him where he stood.

As the leaner of the two left took aim at the broad, blue back, his stockier companion let off the flare that Hank had failed to notice was hidden in his belt. Cursing, the genius twisted away instinctively as a bullet hissed viciously past his shoulder. The crack of gunfire shattered the silence of the forest, birds shrieking in alarm, and Beast, realising that silence was no longer a possibility, howled in fury. Snarling, he kicked the rifle from the numb, shocked hands of the man who was sure he had killed the mutie freak, before knocking him out with a single punch to the jaw.

The man holding the flare was yelling for help even as he pulled the trigger, and the sound of running feet and a searing flash of pain hit Hank at the same time. His arm immediately began to throb savagely, and, knowing that the second group of FOH soldiers were rapidly approaching, he turned and fled. The breath was rasping in his lungs, and his eyes were sliding in and out of focus as he streaked through the branches of the trees, taking daring leaps in his haste, feeling sticky, hot blood oozing from the wound on his bicep, which burned in agony every time he used his left arm.

He could feel himself tiring even as the sounds of his pursuers, jeering and howling for his blood like a pack of scavenging hyenas after a wounded lion, too weak to defend itself, drew closer. Fear made the rasping, desperate breaths catch in his lungs, his golden eyes seeking a way out, an escape, as the animal began to rise in him, the innate terror of being trapped not far behind it. The hole in his arm was beginning to go numb, though it still sent sharp bolts of pain racing through him every time he gripped a new branch, and he knew, clinically, that he was near to fainting from blood loss. If he could rest, only long enough to bind the wound and stop the bleeding, he would be fine. If not, he would lose consciousness and undoubtedly be killed by his brutal hunters.

Dimly, he thought he heard the sound of singing over his now totally primal fear, and he turned and headed for the source of the voice. The incongruity of someone singing in such a situation didn't strike him until he emerged into the clearing, right at the heart of the forest, from which the elusive, haunting melody seemed to issue. Sobbing for breath, he leaped from the trees, staggering into the center of the almost bare area. It took a few moments for the strangeness of what was happening to dawn on him.

He was leaning, half-collapsed, against the trunk of an enormous tree, of a kind which he had never before encountered. The trunk was so broad around that even he, huge and long-limbed as he was, would need to be three time his size to circle it with his arms. The bark was pale brown and strangely soft, like moss, and the leaves gleamed silvery green in the moonlight. What was strangest, however, was that the soft, almost inaudible singing he had heard seemed to be coming from the tree itself.

Forgetting his pursuers for a moment in the familiar fascination of discovery, he ran a clawed hand wonderingly over the surface of the bark. Startled, he jerked his hand away; it was _warm._ He rose to his feet unsteadily, heart still pounding, and had just jumped into the lowest branch of the tree when the first of his hunters burst into the clearing, gun already raised as he looked wildly for his quarry. The others, outrun by their eager comrade, were not far behind. Hank, cornered at last, too exhausted to run, merely huddled against the tree trunk, raising his eyes to stare up at the crown of the huge tree, the feel of its warmth around him somehow comforting, blunting his terror.

"There is no great and no small, To the Soul that maketh all; And where it cometh, all things are; And it cometh everywhere." He murmured regretfully. He was a scientist, and an atheist, but the FOH men were usually devout believers, in their own way. Was he, too, not a creature of God? He sighed, feeling the loneliness he had always tried to avoid thinking about engulf him. Was this how he was to die? Alone in the forest but for his merciless killers, who would not even offer him a burial?

Through his fatigued eyes, the next few minutes took on a feeling of unreality. It seemed to him that a hand, glowing with a pale, silver-green light, emerged slowly from the trunk of the tree, followed shortly by a slender arm and then the rest of the body, until the glowing woman – and woman she undoubtedly was, Hank thought in distant shock, for she was totally naked – stood in front of the tree protectively. Her voice reached his ears only faintly, as though from a great distance, but he knew that it was light and musical, like the song of the tree.

"You are not welcome here. Leave."

The FOH follower raised his gun, sneering, and Hank wanted to cry out, because surely something so enthrallingly beautiful couldn't be allowed to die, when the one of the trees behind the man _moved._ A thick branch creaked once, then bent and struck him in the back, sending him flying to land in an ungainly heap, unconscious, clear across the other side of the clearing. Bemused, shock setting in, he watched as the glowing woman stilled, waiting, her head tilted, clearly listening to something he couldn't hear. After a moment, her slender hands began to dance through the air in front of her, her fingers twisting intricately together.

From the forest around them, Hank heard the pained, muffled cries of his former pursuers and the solid thump of what he assumed were more branches attacking them. Then, abruptly, there was silence. The woman nodded once, obviously satisfied, and turned to him. Despite being only half-conscious, the blue mutant blushed and averted his face; she was significantly female in all respects. For a moment he thought he saw past the blaze of pale light to an amused quirk of full, inviting lips, but then she approached and he had the sudden realisation that she wasn't necessarily friendly.

He looked down at her for a moment and then, without any movement of her arms, the branch he was on flexed and lowered, gently depositing his weak body on the soft grass that seemed to be reaching up to cushion his descent, before with another soft creak it was restored to its former position. The woman crouched beside him, and he got the feeling that unseen eyes were examining him. Finally, she rested a warm hand on his shoulder, above his wound, and he flinched, not only because of the pain, but because she was touching him despite his ferocious appearance. He stared at her hand on his arm, simultaneously desperate to keep the contact and feeling another savage bolt of agony. He cleared his throat, finding his voice at last.

"I am terribly sorry to invade your privacy," Even to his own ears, he sounded weak, and his voice was strained, "But I would be most obliged if you could remove your hand from the vicinity of my wound. It is rather, er… painful." He ended faintly as she rested soft fingers directly over the injury, which gave another twinge.

She didn't reply, or even remove the offending limb, and Hank was beginning to become angry. "My good woman, I said-"

He cut off abruptly as she laid her other hand over a visible tree root. The green glow intensified, and the warmth of her hand seemed to seep into his skin, soothing away the ache. There was an odd, uncomfortable stretching feeling, but the pain of the injury was diminishing to bearable levels, and he was suddenly feeling revitalized. She removed her hand, and her body suggested her satisfaction as she rose, extending a hand to help him up. He took it cautiously, not putting too much weight on her as he stood, and he couldn't help but notice that her skin felt soft and pliant beneath his.

When he towered over her, he tried to offer his thanks, but the words wouldn't come, and she waved his attempts at coherent speech away. Without a word, she turned and pushed her hand into the tree trunk, obviously going back to wherever she had come from. This, at last, woke him from the strangely pleasant stupor, and he started forwards just as her shoulder began to sink into the receptive wood.

"Wait!" He called urgently; somehow, he was not ready to see her vanish. She paused and he softened his voice. "Wait, please."

Her head turned and he watched in wonder as the light dimmed, then went out, leaving him with a brief vision of pale skin glowing in the moonlight (_lots_ of pale skin, he later remembered with a blush), pink lips parted slightly in surprise, dark, woody brown hair curling around slender shoulders and pale green eyes, without pupils. Then, marring the strange, goddess-like aura around her, she laughed and winked, blowing him a kiss before she was absorbed back into the tree.

Hank stood there for a long moment before turning and making his way back towards the mansion, briefcase forgotten, the pain in his shoulder dulled to a constant discomfort that he could bear if he didn't think about it too much. This, he reflected ruefully, was quite easy, as his mind was full of a glowing green figure and a mischievous, beautiful face.


	2. Chapter 2

When he finally managed to get back to the mansion, the bullet wound was inflamed and sore; whatever temporary healing she had afforded him had worn off. He made it to the gates, relieved to see the familiar outline of his home against the lightening sky. The sun was already rising. The gates opened when he confirmed his identity in an exhausted murmur, and he staggered up the drive. The doors opened before he got to them, and the Professor emerged, along with a sleepy, scowling Logan. Hank opened his mouth to apologise for his bare chest and undoubtedly loutish appearance, but the blackness that had been lurking behind his eyes suddenly roared to life and swamped him in its welcome embrace.

"Logan!" The Professor said sharply as Hank's eyes fluttered and his knees buckled. Logan caught him as he fell, grunting a little at the weight. His nose wrinkled as a familiar, unwelcome scent made itself known to him.

"He's bleedin'." He said shortly, already half-carrying, half-dragging the unconscious scientist towards the elevator doors. Xavier nodded, his concern only obvious in the tightness of his mouth and the tension of his shoulders. Logan, turning around inside the elevator, cramped with Hank in there, saw that his eyes were distant in the way that Jeannie's got when she was talking to someone else in her head.

As the doors slid shut, the Professor's eyes cleared. "Jean is waiting for you."

Logan grunted his understanding, his shoulder beginning to ache a little where Hank's weight was resting on it. He was grateful when he managed to manoeuvre his huge friend into the medlab and deposit him on the table Jean was standing by. Jean, in full doctor mode, curtly ordered him out, snapping on her latex gloves before picking up a scalpel. Despite himself, Logan felt a cold shudder ripple through him at the sight, and he swiftly turned and left the room, its sterile scent making him feel nauseous.

The operation went off without a hitch, the bullet having merely lodged in the vast swell of muscle. There was only a minor complication; Hank had used his arm so much that the bullet had moved, tearing muscle fibres around it, which had resulted in the excessive bleeding. Once the bullet was removed everything would heal quickly and with, hopefully, minimum permanent damage, though Jean was confused by the strange clotting of the blood and the thin layer of new skin that had formed over the wound. Although his healing factor was present, it was very mild, and with the bullet still lodged in the muscle, his own mutation would have been unable to make such a repair.

Hank didn't wake until the following morning; in all, he slept twenty-five hours, Jean thought with satisfaction. In that time, with no other tiredness or focus to drain it, his healing factor had almost totally fixed the damage done to him. All that remained was a small, circular patch of raised skin, which was invisible beneath the cover of his thick fur. When she had run the usual tests and declared him healthy, she hugged him warmly and asked him about the strange healing. To her surprise, and irritation, he didn't answer her, merely blushing and mumbling something under his breath.

It was only an hour later that he received a polite invitation from the Professor to join him and discuss the events leading up to his injury. Excusing himself from a persistent Jean, who was still asking him about the mysterious healing of his wound, he first went to his room in the staff quarters to change. Storm, coming around the corner just as he did, bumped into his large, still naked chest. Letting out a soft exclamation of surprise, she backed away, smiling slightly at the flustered apologies issuing from a very embarrassed Hank, her own countenance once again serene.

"I am glad you have recovered, Hank." She said quietly, cutting off another of his efforts to explain.

"Er, yes yes. Quite recovered, thank you." He blinked at her from those wide, endearing golden eyes and she had to resist a very girlish urge to giggle. He was a good friend, and she had no romantic feelings for him at all, but sometimes he was just so… cute. "Excuse me, the Professor called…"

Watching him hurry down the hall, she finally let a wicked smile lift her lips before she glided away towards her own room.

Hank, meanwhile, was dressing in a slightly less battered pair of chinos and a charcoal grey t-shirt before vacating his room, absently grabbing a Twinkie to munch on his way out. Passing through the halls, he acknowledged the friendly waves from his students with smiles and nods, ducking his head sheepishly when they grinned at the sticky confection in his hand. He paused outside the Professor's office to lick his fingers clean, ignoring the distinct sniggers he could hear Logan trying to stifle as he passed by. He raised a clean hand to knock when the familiar voice called out to invite him in.

He opened the door and stepped through, careful to close in gently behind him. Before he had grown accustomed to his enhanced strength, he had broken not a few doors just by shutting them too hard. The Professor smiled at him.

"Good morning, Henry." Xavier, apparently, never used nicknames; Hank secretly believed that it was a cunning method of preserving the slightly distant, awe-inspiring feeling of omniscience about him. "I hope you are feeling better?"

"Certainly! Although that was probably aided by the earlier consumption of a, er, favourite treat of mine."

The Professor had to sternly suppress a chuckle. Why Henry still thought that nobody knew of his Twinkie addiction eluded him. The man was supposed to be a genius… Banishing his amusement, he gestured at a chair and waited until the scientist was comfortably seated before beginning.

"Do you remember what happened, Henry?"

Hank straightened in his seat. "Of course! I left the laboratory facility where the research was being conducted and made my way into the nearby forest to begin the journey back to my place of residence."

The Professor frowned slightly. "Why the forest? Surely you know you could have taken one of the cars without my permission?"

The genius blushed slightly, fidgeting. "I… I prefer to travel home through the wood. It helps me to… to systematize my more complex ruminations." And appeased some animal craving in him, he added silently, forgetting for a moment that the Professor had gifts of his own.

Catching the thought, Xavier nodded, leaning forward to place one of his elegant hands on one of Hank's large ones. "It is nothing to be ashamed of, Henry. It is a part of you, and there is nothing shameful in that. Do you not think that Logan sometimes has similar urges? Although," he added with a wry smile, "I do believe that you are far more civilised than Wolverine will ever be; some people are born wild, and I think he is one of them. It gives him a certain… charm all his own." They shared a chuckle at that. "Continue, please."

Hank picked up the story again. "I had just finished with my- Oh my stars and garters! My briefcase! I had completely forgotten it." He blinked in round-eyed shock before shaking himself and carrying on. He stopped again when he reached the part where _she_ appeared. Despite having memorised the dictionary and the contents of several editions of the thesaurus, he was unable to find adequate words to describe her. The Professor, sensing his difficulty, regarded him gravely.

"Would you prefer it if I were to look for myself, Henry?" He finally asked, his eyes steady on his friend's.

Hank nodded gratefully, and the Professor closed his eyes, pressing gentle fingertips to his temples. The blue mutant felt again the breath rasping in his lungs as he reached the scant protection of the clearing, saw the vast tree, knew that the Professor saw it too from the slight feeling of surprise that hadn't been there the first time. His memories skipped forward a little in time, and he directed the telepath to that moment when the slender, glowing hand had emerged from the trunk. He replayed her decisive defence against the FOH soldiers, but stopped the memory before she had revealed her face to him and given him that flirtatious wink. The Professor felt him block off that part of his mind, but he didn't probe, merely wondering at the scientist's feelings.

Coming back to himself, he sat in silence for a moment, thinking over all that had been shared in their communion. Not only had he seen the turbulent happenings of the night, but he had felt all that Henry felt; the hopelessness, the terrible, aching loneliness, the acceptance, the wonder and gratitude and, most of all, a burning emotion that went beyond curiosity, as intense as any love Charles Xavier had ever before felt, an almost obsessive interest in the mystery woman. After a moment's thought, he decided that it was, like his addiction to artificial sweetness, a fairly harmless notion, and that if pursued it could resolve in the answers both of them wanted.

Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters had seen many, many types of mutant come and go, each unique, but never before had they encountered such a creature.

Hank suddenly straightened in his seat, smiling absently. "Now, if you might be so good as to excuse me, Professor, I would like to retrieve my, er, briefcase."

The Professor had to suppress another chuckle. Poor Henry. So convinced he was hiding his feelings so well, when they were written all over his face. As Hank exited dreamily, it occurred to the psychic that his expression was precisely the same one he got when he was craving a Twinkie. That, Xavier thought in amusement, looked to become the dominant arrangement of the furry mutant's features.

Logan was waiting for Hank outside the door. Coming back past the office from the kitchen, he couldn't help but overhear their brief discussion about instincts. He felt most comfortable with Hank out of all the X-men, except for Marie, of course, he thought with that soft glow of warmth her name always induced in him, and he felt that he could help his friend out by showing him a way to appease those instincts without losing control. When he heard the genius mention the briefcase, he decided that that would be as good an opportunity as he would ever get, and he asked if he could go along.

After a startled moment, Hank blushed and murmured, "Of course, of course. The briefcase… Yes, I would, er, welcome the companionship."

For some reason, Logan got the feeling that the usually companionable Beast really didn't want his society, but Big Blue had never lied to him before, so he shrugged it off and they fell into step together. They went in comfortable silence towards the woods, which stretched the twenty miles between Xavier's and the lab facility Hank had been working at, neither feeling the need to speak. When they reached the trees, Logan turned and grinned at Hank, his hazel eyes glittering with a predatory gleam.

"Race ya to the other side," he challenged.

Hank started to reply, but frowned and changed his mind. "You do not know the way, my friend. That would hardly be a fair competition."

Logan looked at him with that quirk in his eyebrow that clearly said 'you're an idiot'. After a moment, he tapped his nose. "I can track the trail you took that night easy enough. Won't have faded yet. Or are you just scared to get your ass kicked?" He taunted.

Something in Hank stirred at the challenge, and he bared his teeth in a savage smile. "I believe the colloquialism appropriate here would be 'you're on.'"

They moved at the same moment, Hank leaping for the trees, Logan racing through the trunks, claws unsheathing with a ringing sound as he inhaled deeply. The wild part of Hank thrilled at the adrenaline that rushed through him, and he began to make straight for the other side of the forest, ignoring Logan, who soon vanished along the trail he had made on his former journey, which had been a little indirect due to the fogginess of his mind. The exercise soon made his muscles begin to burn pleasantly, but he growled his delight as the air swept through his fur, his clawed hands sure and unfaltering.

It took him under two hours to reach the spot where his briefcase was, and he approached feeling inordinately pleased with himself; the feeling diminished somewhat when he saw Wolverine waiting for him, leaning against the trunk of the tree they had allegedly been seeking, his chest still heaving, his shirt damp with a fine layer of sweat. His eyes bored into Hank's for a moment, and there was something wild and feral about them, until he straightened up and was Logan again.

"This the place?" He grunted through his panting, though that was already slowing to deeper, more even breaths.

Hank nodded, a little crestfallen, as he easily scaled the tree to reach the little box still waiting there. Now that he had the briefcase, he couldn't really justify going to look for her again. Logan, however, noticed his distress and he chuckled. "What is it, Hank?"

Hank landed on the ground and shuffled his large feet sheepishly, looking for all the world like a naughty schoolboy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Or the Twinkie box, Logan amended silently. After a moment, the fanged smile slowly spread over the innocent blue face. "There was a girl… Not a girl, a woman. She was very beautiful, if a little, er…" The blush suffusing the furry cheeks interested his companion.

"A little?" Logan finally prompted. Hank mumbled something under his breath. His friend grinned. "Can't hear ya, Big Blue. Speak up!"

"A little naked!" Hank finally said clearly, though he looked so mortified afterwards that Logan roared with laughter. When he regained control of himself, he clapped a hand on the blue shoulder and steered them back into the woods. "C'mon, let's go find your girl-woman. She's startin' to interest me."

He'd meant it as a joke, so he was startled when Hank spun around, wrenching Logan's companionable hand from his shoulder, his golden eyes blazing, lips pulled back to bare his fangs on a snarl. "She's mine!"

They froze for a moment before Logan chuckled again, breaking the tension. He raised his hands and nodded agreeably, ignoring the outraged restlessness of the Wolverine part of him, which demanded he showed that _he_ was the dominant male here. "Easy there, bub. She's all yours."

Hank blinked at him, bewildered, before his eyes widened in horror. "Logan, I apologise most profusely! I have no idea what came over me so…"

His friend shrugged, and Hank correctly interpreted this as meaning that the situation was behind them, and already as good as forgotten. Still, he was disturbed enough not to notice that Logan was taking a direct route through the forest, not following his original, winding trail; the smaller mutant decided that it would, eventually, occur to the genius that he had already passed the tree, and smelt the woman's strange scent, on his earlier run. It was only when they reached the clearing, familiar now because both men had it memorised, though for Wolverine it was habit to know as much about his surroundings as possible, and for Hank it was more of a memory that was so important for an unknown reason that it had stayed clear, that Hank awoke from his confusion.

Looking around, Logan watched in fascination as Hank approached the tree, following in the large blue footsteps after a moment's observation; the clearing was still and silent, and the scent was old. The mystery woman didn't appear to be there. He leant idly against the tree trunk as Hank circled it, but jumped away with a curse when he simultaneously felt its warmth and heard a voice, light and musical, calling down from overhead.

"Are you looking for me?"

Hank was at his side in a flash, and they both looked up at the faintly glowing figure of a woman, as naked as she had been the first time Beast had encountered her, lounging seemingly without fear on a thick branch about twenty feet above the ground. Logan eyed her nude body appreciatively, but a low growl from his companion made him drop his gaze and cough uncomfortably. After a moment, the creaking of wood made him look up again in curiosity, and he gaped as the branch bent into a graceful curve, which the woman slid down until she dropped six or seven feet to land lightly in front of them. The glow intensified for a moment, then it slowly ebbed, leaving them dazzled. The warm voice came again.

"I remember you."

Logan blinked away the dancing spots in front of his eyes to see her staring at Hank with an intensity in her eyes that made him cough again to hide a laugh. Oh yeah, he thought at his gaping, silent blue friend, she's all yours.


	3. Chapter 3

When Hank remained silent in the face of the naked woman, Logan stepped forward and offered his hand to her, carefully keeping his eyes on her face. And what a face, he thought as she grasped his hand in hers, her long fingers smooth and warm against his own callused skin. Her skin, all of her skin, he noted with an admiring leer that he quickly wiped from his face, was paleHaHan, sliding over lean, graceful muscles. She had long legs, a taut, flat stomach and a slender neck, and even in bare feet her eyes weren't on a level with his. She was, he suddenly realised, extraordinarily tall, although Hank still dwarfed her.

"I'm Logan," he offered into the silence.

A smile lit her face, and he caught his breath. Her hair was long, a mass of riotous dark brown waves that curled caressingly around her shoulders, the exact shade of the bark on the tree behind her. Her lips were full and pink, curved into a slight pout when she wasn't smiling. Her eyes were captivating; they reminded Logan of Storm's eyes when she used her power, but the stranger's were pale green. Ordinarily, she was pretty. When she smiled, it was like the sun was shining on the lucky recipient, because her eyes glowed slightly with silver brilliance and her face became exquisitely beautiful.

Realising that she was still holding his hand expectantly, he shook it gently. "My name is Gaia," she replied in her musical, soft voice.

She turned expectantly to the silent, blue-furred mutant beside Logan. When he remained soundless, her smile wilted slightly, but one of Logan's elbows being jammed into his ribs startled Hank from his trance. He took her offered hand gently, almost reverently, in his own huge paw, shaking it lingeringly, seemingly unwilling to let it go. His eyes finally dropped from hers, and he blinked, blushing furiously and averting his gaze.

"Ah, yes… I am, er, Dr. Henry McCoy." He murmured.

Gaia, noticing the flush on his cheeks, laughed lightly, which, Logan observed with amusement, made Hank gape in besotted awe again. She reached back, pushing a hand into the solid-looking trunk of the tree. After a moment of concentration, she pulled her arm back out, and with it came a diaphanous dress made of forest green material, which she donned. Hank noticed, with some relief, that it was fortunately more opaque than it seemed, and that although it draped over her curves enticingly, it covered her body from view. Logan sighed regretfully, which made Hank glare at him before turning back to Gaia.

"I wanted to express my gratitude for your assistance when I was injured."

She frowned for a moment, before enlightenment seemed to dawn on her. "Oh! You're welcome. I am glad we were able to help you."

"Er, we?" Hank queried hesitantly. His heart sank; of course, such a beautiful creature would already have a husband, probably equally handsome, and several striking, angelic children.

"Yes, the trees and I. They like the way you treat them; you seem to be very polite."

Logan stared at her, but Hank felt immeasurably cheered, and in a rush of confidence he poured out a stream of words, "Of course! I am delighted they feel that way. Please inform them that I shall always endeavor to do so. Logan and I have come to ask you to live with us." Then, realizing how that sounded, he stammered, "Not- not just us, but with all of us. Mutants, I mean. We live with Charles Xavier at the mansion, with the children, and the Professor is most eager to meet you and, of course, there are trees there and you may converse with them at will and that would be, um… delightful?" He ended uncertainly.

When both Logan and Gaia continued to stare at him blankly, he took a deep breath. "I would guess that I have merely succeeded in mystifying you. I beg your pardon."

Looking a little lost, Gaia murmured, "Not at all, Dr. McCoy."

"Please, call me Hank, or Henry if you prefer. Now, I shall strive to clarify my previous ramble. Logan and I live in the home of a man called Charles Xavier, an active campaigner for mutant rights. He transformed the property he inherited into Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, which in reality is a safe haven for mutants, particularly children, where they can receive a very fine education and learn to use their gifts responsibly. Some members of the faculty are also part of the X-men team, a group of mutants gathered and trained by Professor Xavier to utilize their powers to protect the world from harm. The Professor would like to extend an invitation to you to join us at the mansion, possibly as a teacher at the School if you so desire, or as an extra hand otherwise."

Feeling pleased that the confusion had cleared from her lovely brow, he offered her a fanged smile, which she returned warmly. After a moment, however, the smile dimmed and a slight frown crossed her face. "I think I would like to accept Professor Xavier's kind invitation, however…"

Logan, knowing that the Professor had, in fact, issued no such invitation, looked at Hank expectantly, and not without some confusion. His friend merely ignored him, looking hopefully down at Gaia, prepared to exert all of his not inconsiderable intellect to overcome whatever obstacle she perceived to the accomplishment of the plan. The plan that would end with her living in close proximity to him. Preferably for as long as he lived. "However?"

"However, I am afraid that it would prove troublesome for you. I can't go anywhere without my Tree."

Hank blinked. "Your, er, Tree?"

She nodded. "My… gift binds me to this tree; without his support and strength nearby I would die. When he thrives, I thrive. When he struggles, I struggle. When he feels pleasure, I feel pleasure. When he is sick, I am sick. We are tied together more surely than by any mortal knot."

Gaia turned and fondly caressed the vast trunk, but the look in her eyes was of a love so total, so extreme, that Logan found himself shivering in fear and stepping backwards; her feelings seemed to run deeper than obsession, deeper than addiction. To a man not given to sentimentality, it was a yawning abyss of weakness, with the potential to destroy her more fully than any physical hurts. Such a violence of emotion seemed more inhuman, in some ways, than Hank's fur or his own unnatural claws. Hank, however, whose loneliness and isolation had forced him to turn many of his own emotions inwards, thus intensifying them, saw that all-encompassing, all-consuming arroyo of love and found himself comforted by it.

Shaking himself, he watched as she turned back to them and shrugged, the movement making her gauzy dress ripple alluringly. "It would be almost impossible to uproot him."

Hank started to say that it damn well was possible, that he'd _make_ it possible if it meant that she would live so close to him, but her sudden frown interrupted him. "There might be a way." She said slowly, "But it would be… difficult. He would need to be replanted in his new location as soon as possible; the ground would need to be prepared to receive him."

Logan looked at Hank's determined face. "The Blackbird?" He suggested.

It was quick work for the genius to calculate the length of time he would have to wait if they wanted to return home, come back with the jet, pick her up, take her to the mansion, let her prepare the ground… Far, far too long. Instead, he let his appealingly wide eyes rest of Logan's face. After a moment, the hazel eyes rolled up and the clawed super-healer groaned loudly.

"What do you want me to do?" He growled.

Hank smiled toothily. "Run back to the mansion and ask Storm to prepare a plot for Gaia's Tree. Meanwhile, I shall guide her back to the mansion as she transports… him?" He directed enquiringly at the woman.

"Him." She confirmed with a smile of approval.

Logan looked her over skeptically. "No offense, but you ain't big enough to carry him anywhere, darlin', and neither's Hank here."

A mysterious smile crossed her bewitching face. "I shall carry him as far as is necessary."

After a moment, Logan growled grumpily and poked Hank in the chest. "You owe me." Then he wheeled and jogged into the trees, nose uplifted as his claws emerged again with a flick of his wrists. The ringing sound made Gaia jump and stare. Hank, not liking the attention she paid to his friend, turned to regard the enormity of her Tree. "Er, how do you propose we relocate him? He is a magnificent specimen…" He trailed off, stroking the warm bark admiringly. "What kind of-"

He cut off as he looked back at Gaia, who was flushed. There was a look in her suddenly heavy-lidded eyes that made his heart jump and heat to suffuse his body. She tipped her head back and moaned, so softly that had he been human, he wouldn't have heard it. At the same moment, the rich, seductive scent of her arousal, full and womanly, drifted to his nose. He looked at his hand, still moving gently over the bark of the tree, then back at her, watching a truly fascinating flush spread over her face and down her neck, disappearing under her dress. He wanted to follow it with his eyes, his fingers, his tongue, wanted to…

"Gracious me!" He exclaimed, tearing his hand away from the tree, a hot blush staining his face, "I am so sorry! I had no- I didn't mean- I wouldn't have…" He stopped, turning slightly away to hide the evidence of his own reaction to her, his cheeks still feeling almost unbearably warm.

It took a few minutes of somewhat awkward silence before that tantalizing scent finally dissipated. He refused to look at her, absolutely horrified by the knowledge that he had practically been… _fondling_ a total stranger. After another moment of silence, his ears twitched, catching the soft sound of her footsteps as she approached. He felt her gentle hand lift reaching up to lift his chin, and he looked down into her shimmering eyes, fiercely aware of her warmth only a few inches from him. She smiled slowly, and her voice was low and slightly husky, sending a shiver down his spine.

"We, I, enjoyed it very much, Hank. In fact," Mischief and something else, something darker and earthier, flared in those dancing green eyes, "You are quite welcome to do it again, once we know each other a little better."

He wanted to respond, to tell her that he would do it, do anything, to make her look like that, smell like that again, but he couldn't. He couldn't because she was touching him again, she had her hand on his face and it was the first purely voluntary contact he'd had outside of a laboratory in weeks, and it was the first touch that was intimate in the way a woman touches a man in _years_. She went to pull her hand away and his own shot up, holding it against his fur. Surprised, she looked up into his golden eyes, and the loneliness she saw there almost took her breath away. She smiled understandingly, and waited until he finally let her touch drop away. He looked embarrassed at such a display of need, but she merely moved past him to rest both hands on the trunk of her Tree.

"Come on, my old friend." She murmured lovingly, and Hank found himself utterly, ludicrously, jealous of a tree. "It's time to move on."

The leaves of the great tree rustled in what Hank thought was a sigh, and then, to his astonishment, Gaia began to shimmer again. The glow became brighter and brighter, until he was squinting to watch as it began to spread up the tree, infusing it with light, creeping through every branch, every leaf, until it was a giant pillar of silvery green radiance. Then, even more amazingly still, the light began to recede, flowing back into the spark at its base that was Gaia, and Hank realized with shock and awe that it wasn't just the light, the _tree_ was shrinking and being absorbed into her body.

After only a few minutes, the light began to fade completely, until all that was left was the glowing figure. Slowly, that radiance too dissipated, until the clearing was once more lit only by the sun. When the blue mutant managed to clear his vision, he gasped and involuntarily stepped back. Gaia stood calmly before him but she had changed, almost transformed, his scientific brain noticed. Her skin was dark brown, and was textured like bark, while her hair had lightened to the same pale green as her eyes. She smiled at him, and it occurred to him that even like this she was beautiful when she smiled.

He returned the smile, turning to lead her through the trees. He noticed that the leaves over them stirred and whispered as they passed, and he got the strange feeling that something, or several somethings, was watching him. It made his bestial instincts rise, and he couldn't help but curl his fingers into hooks, ready to slash with his claws if necessary. He fought the instincts rapidly coming to the fore in him for the first half hour of their walk, but then he finally snapped. Snarling with the effort of controlling himself, he came to a halt. Gaia stopped beside him, and she looked into his ferociously contorted face unafraid.

"What is it?"

"Something is watching us." He growled, his arms twitching as they fought his mind's command; the animal wanted to wrap her in his embrace and carry her off to safety, while the man feared her rejection.

She looked surprised, then she smiled apologetically. "It's the trees. I'm sorry, I forgot they make people nervous. I'll ask them to stop." She knelt at his feet, unknowingly inflaming the lust inside him with such a suggestive position. As she pushed her fingers into the soil, the man finally lost the battle.

With a roar, he gathered her into his arms before throwing her over one huge shoulder. Instinct alone guided him as he leapt into the trees. For a moment the branches shuddered in outrage, but he dimly felt Gaia move against his back, and the branch obligingly stilled. He began to jump from tree to tree, one arm clamping her against his shoulder, the other aiding his rapid travel. The second half of their journey took much less time than the first, and with each mile between them and the site of the perceived danger, the animal in Hank receded. They were on the very edge of the trees before the man finally regained control and gently set his burden on her feet.

Face tight with disgust, he turned away from her, staring at his clawed fingers and furred arms with contempt. He spoke without looking at her. "I am a monster. Please… Please, I had no intention of hurting or frightening you. I did not mean… I could not… Please."

The last came out as a shamed, guilty whisper. She smiled, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's ok. I'm not hurt. I wasn't afraid. Did you look at me in fear when I turned into this?" She gestured at her own body, the dark, patterned skin, the green hair. "To most, I would be the more frightening of us, because I look similar to them. You're so different… so wonderfully different… that you are acceptable. I am a pretender to humanity. I befoul them by taking their shape."

He turned swiftly, seizing her hands in his own. "Never," He told her fervently, the fierce intensity in his voice making her tremble deliciously, "Never, never, never say anything like that about yourself again. Do you understand?"

She smiled that slow, mysterious smile, and Hank's breath caught in his chest. "Do you?"

Slowly, comprehension filtered into his mind and he smiled again, shyly. "Would you- Would you like to go and er, settle in your Tree?"

She nodded, and followed him with a contented smile as he led her through the gates and into the grounds. He turned immediately right, his ears twitching; he could hear the voices of the X-men gathered just out of sight around the corner of the building, waiting for them. It occurred to him that she wouldn't know where he was taking her, but when he turned to look she was already trustingly behind him. He smiled again, this time more confidently, although her obvious faith made him feel like he was the one glowing and warm.

They reached the small gathering of mansion residents quickly, and he stopped as they all turned to look at him enquiringly. Logan had obviously explained very little, because Scott was looking angry, Jean annoyed, Storm as serene as usually, Bobby a little bored and Rogue… With a jolt, Hank realized that Rogue was watching Logan with a very familiar, wistful loneliness in her eyes. Professor Xavier came forward, a welcoming smile on his face.

"It's good to see you again, Henry. And I presume that this is Gaia?"

She stepped out from behind his reassuringly broad back, and Hank clearly heard Jean's gasp of surprise. He looked at her, a little confused, but to his shock and fury, he saw the slightest hint of fear and horror in her eyes. They had many stranger looking mutants at the school, including Hank himself, but for some reason, the genius realized that Gaia had been right. Something about her had frightened Jean, calm, composed Jean. It further confused him when he noticed that everybody else was smiling welcomingly.

The Professor watched with a slight smile as Hank protectively dropped a hand to rest in the small of the woman's back, and she looked up at him warmly. They stared at each other, lost to the moment, until Bobby coughed in amusement. Hank, blushing, stepped slightly away, but left his hand where it was. He looked around at the group and cleared his throat before beginning the introduction.

"May I introduce Gaia to everyone? Gaia, this is Professor Charles Xavier. On the left is Scott Summers, codename Cyclops. Next to him is Jean Grey, who is an accomplished doctor. You've met Logan, of course, codename Wolverine. The girl beside him is Rogue, and this fool grinning like a maniac is Robert 'Bobby' Drake, codename Iceman."

There was a moment of silence while everyone stared at each other, then Bobby stepped forward and offered his hand, still smiling his charming, boyish smile. "Well, welcome to Freaksville!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

After only two weeks in residence, Gaia was already a favorite of students and staff alike. She spent the first two days in the lab, allowing Hank to run tests on her, asking her about her mutation, and she willingly provided him with information, only to laughingly demand that he answer some of her questions. They had been drawn to each other from the moment of meeting, but now they formed the beginnings of a steady, warm friendship that bloomed under their careful care like a flower in the sun.

She had been allotted a room only three doors down from Hank's own, and at her request it was facing her Tree, one of the branches of which moved, seemingly of its own accord, until it formed a bridge, of sorts, from her window to its trunk. Seeing this, many of the kids had formed a god-like image of her, and she amused them and some of the staff members, particularly the Professor, by upholding the image whenever she could, gliding along the hallways where plants twitched and reached towards her as she passed, sometimes even allowing the strange glow to escape her control a little, outlining her in pale silver light.

This display, as well as the fantastic light show when she had 'rebuilt' her Tree, had assured her the teasing, brotherly friendship of Bobby and the graver respect and admiration of Storm, with whom she had rapidly become firm and close friends. They spent comfortable, contented hours on the grounds, and after a week's cautious overtures, they could be found most mornings in Storm's private roof-top garden, where they consulted one another over plant knowledge and botanical secrets. Their laughter, Ororo's rich and warm, Gaia's light and merry, could often be heard mingling on the air. Their conversations included more serious topics, too, and neither hesitated to open their hearts to the other; there was a strange feeling of kinship there that was explained one warm, lazy morning, when they were sitting contentedly in their nest of plant life, all of which rustled in delight occasionally, as if the excitement was too much to bear.

"Well, cousin, I must admit to being impressed by the flora here. Everything seems so happy and vibrant."

"Cousin?" Storm's curiosity was evident in her eyes, though her face remained serene.

"Of course. We are similar in so many ways, are we not?" When Ororo looked intrigued, Gaia frowned in puzzlement. "Do you not think so?"

'Ro laughed. "Our shared interest in the natural world is certain, but other than that…" Seeing Gaia's astonishment, she smiled a little apprehensively. "I haven't offended you?"

"Not at all. It's just…" The dark-haired woman looked thoughtful. "How much do you know about your mutation?"

Storm's face became even cooler, only the tightness around her eyes giving away her tension. "Enough to control it. I have never met anyone with a similar gift, if that is what you wish to know."

Gaia looked down at her and smiled slightly. "Have you not?" Ororo continued to look steadily at her newfound friend, her head tilted questioningly. After a moment, Gaia continued. "It was once a widespread belief that the world, and everything in it, came under the dominion of the elements. The 'force' of earth was one of them. Elements were the basic building block for the planet, powerful forces of nature, capable of both great benevolence and great destruction. Logan's gift is, I believe, classified as 'feral', as is Hank's. Jean's and the Professor's are 'cerebral'. My own mutation is… slightly different than almost every other. It would be classified as 'elemental', were someone to give it a category. Or so Hank believes, anyway." For a moment Storm saw an aching, devouring intensity flash in the green eyes, and she involuntarily twitched away from such all-consuming feeling. _A powerful force of nature, capable of both great benevolence and great destruction._

After a moment, Gaia smiled again, and the terrifying, unbearable need was gone, but its memory made the weather witch shudder; the brief glimpse of something so profound had convinced her that Gaia, and others like her, were elevated onto a level above even the most powerful of mutants. "Elemental mutations, in their purest forms, are very, very rare. There are lesser varieties, such as Bobby's, a melding between two 'types' of gift. The boy, St. John, has a similar gift; although he manipulates fire, he cannot create it. Both of their abilities are a blend of elemental and cerebral classes." For a moment she saw the smoldering wariness in his eyes, the gleam of something not quite open, other than her natural wariness and fear of fire, which made her recoil slightly from him. "Your mutation, however, is different. It seems to be a direct descendant of elemental power, a hybrid between two elemental genes that, perhaps, created a new dominion. So you see," she concluded with a warm smile, "We are cousins in every way but blood."

Storm, after a quiet few minutes in which she absorbed this new information about herself, something she had almost given up hope of discovering, finally looked up and smiled in return. She gracefully rose and bent a little, enfolding the taller woman who, whilst seated, was at eye level with her shoulders, in her embrace. When they parted, Gaia was surprised and moved to see tears standing in the other woman's eyes, and though they settled easily back into a friendly debate about the proper nitrogen levels required for roses to bloom to their fullest beauty, neither would forget the deep connection that had been established between them, and the two women became as close as any sisters or cousins the School had ever seen.

The only person seemingly not delighted by the newest addition to Xavier's extended family was Jean. Her first reaction, Hank was disappointed and a little angry to note, had set the tone for her relationship with Gaia. The tall woman was exquisitely polite, and after her first tentatively friendly questions had been rebuffed with only the barest modicum of civility, something which puzzled Scott, who had always thought his fiancée to be universally well-mannered and warm, she had settled into cool courtesy in her dealings with the doctor. By the time Jean realized that she had put herself at a disadvantage in being so close-minded, revealing the jealous, petty side of her personality she had previously kept well hidden, the damage was done.

A month into Gaia's residency, the blue-furred genius had had enough. His feelings for the mysterious woman had deepened into a fierce love so quickly that it left him breathless. He hadn't told her of his affection for her yet; he was used to women looking at him in scorn and disgust, and he was uncertain that she returned his regard. Their friendship was too precious to him to risk. So when he heard what had happened, a rage unlike any other he had experienced flooded through him. Someone had hurt his woman, his _mate_. He remembered with a snarl how Jean had insisted to Hank on sitting in on one of his question and answer sessions with Gaia about her mutation.

"If she is injured in some way, Hank, and you aren't here, I must know enough to be able to treat her. How can I do that if she won't answer any of my questions?"

The truth was, Gaia was a threat to Jean. Before her arrival, Jean had been the most beautiful, the most intelligent and the most envied woman at the mansion. That had changed when Hank brought the new mutant to the school. She was warm, quick-witted and, Jean thought with a frown, undeniably very attractive. It was more than that, though. There was an aura about her, something that set her apart, and it drew all eyes to her when she passed through the halls. Jean regarded her attempts to amuse the children with her gifts with stern eyes; it was childish and irresponsible, she told herself, ignoring that little part of her that whispered that she used to be the only one to turn heads and bring delighted smiles to both young and old faces like that.

It all came to a head when she sat beside Hank during one of the quizzing sessions.

The genius smiled a fang-filled smile at Gaia, who returned it with one of her own. For a moment the depth of emotion emanating from that beautiful smile almost knocked Jean out; it flooded over her, suffocating her, until it lessened when the smile faded, and the crushing pressure against her mind's barrier dissolved. The telepath breathed deeply for a moment, trying to process the incredible power of the woman's emotions. To project with such intensity, Jean thought numbly, she must be feeling that ten times over. God, it's not human! She tried to regain her focus, tuning in to the conversation of the oblivious pair.

"Why did you choose an abode so far removed from society, if it is not too personal a query?" Hank was saying, and the red-haired doctor noted with displeasure that there was more than professional curiosity in his tone.

Gaia's eyes were distant, as though she was trying to remember something from a long time ago. Her words came slowly. "I lived with foster parents. I am not an orphan, but my own parents did not want a mutant child…"

"How did they know?" Jean cut in, frowning impatiently. When the taller woman looked confused, the doctor gave a thin-lipped smile. "Mutations don't manifest until puberty. Unless they had you tested for the 'X' gene, they couldn't have known you weren't… normal, for want of a better word."

After a moment, Gaia smiled, though her eyes were on Hank when she stood, and the genius was nodding, as though they had already discussed it. They probably had, Jean thought sourly. "Perhaps that is so for some types of mutation, but elemental gifts are so… overwhelming, that if they manifested suddenly, the shock would be too much for the body to take." For a moment her eyes darkened in sorrow. "I believe that one of your students, Rogue, has a gift that is an amalgamation of elemental-type mutations; she found it, and still finds it, I believe, traumatizing to use her gift." Seeing Jean purse her lips impatiently, she paused for a moment before continuing, "Elemental gifts are present with the child in the womb, gradually developing until the mutant is through puberty. Or so it was in my case."

Jean was blinking in shock; the thought of a child in full possession of their gifts, especially were that child to be like Storm or Rogue, was terrifying. It took a moment for the doctor to realize that a baby wouldn't have the mental faculties to use their mutation for several years. She opened her mouth, but Gaia beat her to it, turning and sliding the gauzy material of her dress from her shoulder. "This is how my parents knew."

On the slim, pale shoulder that was exposed, Jean could clearly see what was obviously a birth mark, a couple of centimeters square. What was strange was its shape; it formed a perfectly symmetrical leaf, complete with stem, and instead of being the usual dark pigment, it was a very dark green, almost black. Gaia rearranged her gown, gracefully reseating herself and turning slightly to look at Hank, who had uncomfortably pulled a chart of medical history onto his lap to disguise his reaction to that tantalizing glimpse of smooth, silky skin.

"Ahem, yes… You were saying?"

"I lived with foster parents, Jane and Michael, who were very tolerant of my odd behavior. I was six when I learned to manipulate earth and 'talk' to plant life." She paused, frowning. "That isn't quite accurate, but there is no other way to describe it. Plants don't have a consciousness like ours, they don't think, but they have an awareness, and a recognition of their needs. That is what I tap into, using the soil as a medium. The problems became more apparent as I grew. As well as becoming uncomfortable in the city, I began to experience violent, uncontrollable fits of emotion. Since birth I had been intertwined with the life of the natural world around me, not only plants but earth, rocks and, to some extent, animals. Even as a baby, I was vaguely aware of it. But being so closely linked to the Earth, I began to _feel _like the Earth. My emotions ran far, far deeper than the human mind could comprehend, making me prey to their passions."

"The problem only worsened as I hit puberty. I was, by this stage, so wild as to be condemned as a lunatic. Jane and Michael were out of their depth, unable to care for me. I still don't know what it was that caused it to happen, but on the night of my eighteenth birthday something changed. I woke up, gathered my belongings, wrote an explanatory letter to my harassed foster parents and left. I took a taxi as far as the forest you found me in. When I got out, the driver looked at me as though I was a maniac, but for the first time I didn't have to worry about hurting anyone inadvertently in my raging storms of feeling. When I reached the clearing you found me in, Hank, I sat down and felt this… _something _building inside of me. I pushed my hands into the soil, and I created my Tree."

From the way her eyes flicked to Jean and away, Hank knew that there was more to it than that, much more, but that she wanted it kept private.

"So," she concluded, "We are bound together for as long as he survives. His was the strength that healed your wound, Hank, when he felt your need through me."

The elemental and the genius continued to talk, but Jean was lost in a rush of scientific ambition. If the tree had healing properties that worked as quickly as they had on Hank, she could make her name legend in the medical community. Who knew what kinds of diseases or problems could be fixed by its 'magic'? She looked up, interrupting the warm laughter the other two were exchanging.

"Could I take a sample of the bark from your… tree?"

Gaia's face tightened. "No." Jean's brows snapped together irritably, a sharp retort ready on her tongue, but the other woman was already moving. "If you will excuse me, I am overdue for my meeting with the Professor."

She swept from the room, Hank following in her wake with an absentminded excuse to Jean, who was left seething. Of all the selfish things to do! Well, she thought angrily, I'm not going to let that self-absorbed _female_ stop me from helping the world.

Hank snapped back to the present with a frustrated roar. She was gone. He had been too late to stop it when, coming up from the lab not two hours before on a Twinkie restocking mission, he had looked out the kitchen window and seen Jean with a small handsaw poised over the bark of the Tree. Her Tree.

For a moment he had stood, frozen in shock, but even as he raced for the door, he knew he would be too late. Turning, he threw himself through the window instead, his thick fur protecting him, head tucked against his chest, shielded by his arms, but even the crash of the glass shattering around him could not dim the sound of the terrible, anguished scream from the direction of the woods. He leaped to his feet, bounding on all fours towards Jean, who had already cut an inch into the bark, only stopping in shock when the shriek of agony echoed around them. Hank bowled her over, snatching the saw from her hand, leaving her gasping for breath of the ground as, with a savage snarl, he tore it in half, uncaring that his palms were being lacerated by its sharp teeth.

He thrust his face into Jean's, his golden eyes totally alien to a woman who was accustomed to seeing only his gentle, human nature. "You interfering, unscrupulous _imbecile._" His voice was a low growl, soft and chilling.

Without another word, he turned and hurtled towards the tiny copse of oaks standing not far from the mansion gates, only just inside the grounds. He knew it was Gaia's favorite place to go when she wanted to be alone with her gift. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Logan, claws unsheathed, heading for the same destination. Hank crouched slightly, using his hands to help push himself along, and they reached the little group of trees at the same time. Even to their enhanced hearing, it was silent. She was gone.

Through the roaring in his ears and over the pounding on his heart, Hank dimly saw Logan lift his nose and inhale, following when the younger man stalked into the trees. It was only when Wolverine stopped and sheathed the claws with an angry snarl that Hank snapped out of his daze. He looked at the tree beside his friend, his blood turning to ice in his veins when he saw the sticky, dark red handprint smeared across its trunk. It registered that the hand was far too blocky and masculine to be hers at about the same time he noticed that Logan was examining the ground around them, and it took another long sniff before the genius realized why.

He crouched, his sharp eyes picking out at least six different sets of footprints, only one of which was that of a person walking barefoot. Then Logan let out another growl, and this one was so savage that even Hank had to steel himself not to move away. When their eyes met, it was Wolverine who spoke to him, overshadowing the humanity usually identifiable as a gleam in his friend's eyes.

"I know two of these scents. Looks like the little bastards didn't get enough first time 'round." When Hank's eyes widened in furious comprehension, Wolverine nodded slowly and rocked back on his heels. Beast wordlessly turned and raced for the mansion, leaving Logan to chuckle humorlessly, the familiar bloodlust stirring in him. "Fuck-ups of Humanity, here we come."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"We don't have time for this, Jean!" Scott snapped, contorting himself into a position that made even his flexible, fit muscles twinge in an effort to yank the zip up the back of the uniform.

Jean stood behind him, hands on her hips, looking at him with a stubborn scowl that unflatteringly highlighted the harsh hollows of her cheeks and deepened the fine wrinkles around her eyes and across her smooth forehead. He could see her reflection in the shimmering metal of the showcase where the uniforms were kept, and despite its distorting effects, he could clearly make out the anger in her stiff body.

"You don't need me to go along, Scott! You've done hundreds of minor missions just like this against the Friends of Humanity without my help. I don't see why you should alter that now. Besides, what if one of the children gets sick?"

Scott swung around to stare at her, his jaw dropping on an incredulous laugh. "Gaia's _life_ is in danger here, Jean. This is nothing like those missions. Hank will be here if one of the students is ill, but I doubt there's going to be a major epidemic just because you're not here." Seeing her eyes widen at his biting tone, he deliberately softened a little. "Come on, honey, get suited up. We're wasting time."

Jean's face hardened in a way that he'd never seen before, though lately he'd been getting flashes of a harsher side to his wife-to-be than he'd ever suspected her of having. "Why don't you take Hank with you on the mission, Scott? He might be more use against those thugs than I am, anyway."

Cyclops stared in disbelief. "Are you even thinking about what you're saying?"

The moment the words passed his lips, he could have bitten his tongue. Of all the ways to rouse Jean's temper, criticizing her was the fastest and most effective. Even since he'd first known her, she'd responded with fiery bursts of anger to any attempts he'd made at constructively criticizing the way she worked in the team or teasingly scolding her for some of her bizarre, neat-freak habits.

He watched in resignation as her lips thinned, her eyes narrowing into a glare that snapped with angry disapproval, a contrast to her honey-sweet voice. "Oh no, Scott, please, tell me what I'm thinking."

Exasperated, the Fearless Leader closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, glad for once of the visor obscuring part of his face. "I didn't mean it like that, Jean. But think about it. If we took Hank into an FOH camp, they'd all go for him. He's such an obvious target; they'd shoot him dead within thirty seconds of his getting out of the jet."

Jean sighed and, Scott noted with relief, unfolded her arms, relaxing out of her defensive posture. "I realize that, Scott, I do, but… I really can't see the need for me to accompany you on this mission."

He clenched his jaw. Why was she being so stubborn about this? Usually Jean was the first to board the Blackbird when they were performing a rescue operation, checking the medical equipment and ensuring that the supplies were up-to-date and adequately stocked. He couldn't understand her obstinate refusal to do the same now. Frustrated, he reached out with his mind over the deep connection they shared, trying to discover her true feelings on the matter.

Her response sent him reeling.

Like a hot knife through butter, a sharp blow severed the connection while he was still feeling his way along it, abruptly snapping the cord of communion that had existed for so long between them. He got a brief, stinging whisper of jealousy and a stronger, sour hint of dislike before a savage throb set up shop in his temples. He winced, clutching at his eyes through the visor, squeezing them shut until the terrible ache faded to manageable proportions. Slowly, he looked up, his eyes meeting Jean's startled, defiant ones across the room. It didn't take him long to realize that she had deliberately, brutally slammed the door shut on the link. On him.

There was a long, strained silence, then Jean's lips parted, her face softening with regret. "Scott…"

"Don't." His voice sounded harsh, grating, even to his own ears, and his eyes behind the visor were sharp shards of ice. "I think you made it perfectly clear, Jean. If you are no longer comfortable in an equal relationship, then that's fine." He straightened, ignoring the renewed stab of pain in his skull. "In future, however, I would prefer that personal issues didn't interfere with the running of the team."

At the scathing reprimand, something Jean had been granted immunity from since she had started her relationship with the X-men's leader, she drew back, shocked. Seeing his grim resolve and the tight set of his mouth, she lifted her chin and, with a final glare in his direction, whirled and stormed from the room.

Scott turned back to the door to the hangar just in time to hear the familiar, dull roar as the Blackbird's thrusters lifted it into the air. The ground shook for a moment, then he heard the soothing purr of its engine as the sleek aircraft darted away, heading out over the border of Xavier's grounds without him. He gave a wordless snarl, spinning on his booted heel and delivering a satisfying punch to the inoffensive metal cabinet. The sharp ache in his head intensified at the hollow boom that resulted, and his hand was already throbbing in anticipation of the bruises that would form over his knuckles soon. He looked down at his rapidly reddening fingers and closed his eyes, curling his hands into fists.

"Fuck."

Behind Storm, Hank sat quietly. He wore the yellow-striped uniform the Professor's specialists had designed for him, grateful for its smooth, dangerous appearance; the butter-soft leather moulded around his shoulders, making every flex of his bulky muscles feel strangely sensual as his luxuriant blue fur whispered against the lining. He could hear Logan shifting uncomfortably in his own uniform, as he always did, testing its flexibility and its durable strength. The weather goddess sat at the controls, almost radiating an aura of serene togetherness that Hank subconsciously found soothing.

As the Blackbird soared out over the road, the scanners seeking the convoy of off-road vehicles the FOH always favored for their sallies into the outside world, Logan shifted again, making the leather surrounding him creak, and Hank was thrown backwards in time.

_He looked down at her for a moment and then, without any movement of her arms, the branch he was on flexed and lowered, gently depositing his weak body on the soft grass that seemed to be reaching up to cushion his descent, before with another soft creak it was restored to its former position. The woman crouched beside him, and he got the feeling that unseen eyes were examining him._

She was so beautiful, and from the minute he'd first seen her, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, he'd known that she was his. Some deep, animal part of him had reached out to her, its ragged edges finding their missing pieces in her, becoming whole. Although they had been strangers, in that moment his fate was sealed.

_Their laughter, Ororo's rich and warm, Gaia's light and merry, could often be heard mingling on the air. Hank, walking across the grounds in front of the house, paused and looked up at the sound of such pure, sweet joy, feeling a smile tugging relentlessly at the corners of his lips. Something aching and tender filled his chest at the awareness of how easily she had been accepted. She was loved by all, but none loved her as he did. He walked on, sternly trying to banish her image from his mind and failing with a broad, soft smile that made the Professor, looking out of his office window, nod his head with knowing satisfaction._

Storm, sitting so peacefully in front of him, whose loneliness nobody had ever seen, whose barriers nobody had breached, until she came into their lives like a breath of warm spring air that heralds the end of barren winter. Bobby, still so young, who had settled down and whose pranks, although not ceasing, had become much milder under her steady influence. Hank himself, who had found his confidence in himself as a man blossoming in the warmth of their intense bond. She had touched everyone's lives with her gentle light and, like the plants she so adored, they had unfurled and basked in her radiance.

"_Well, Gaia, I think that's enough for today, do you not agree?" Hank said with a shy smile in the direction of the graceful woman seated opposite him. He moved to rise, but her gentle hand on his arm stopped him in his tracks, holding him captive as surely as any chain._

"_Demi." She smiled up at him, but there was a shadow in her green eyes. It took him a moment to realize that it was fear. Of rejection? He wondered silently._

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"_My name." She replied softly, averting her face. "My name is Demi."_

_For a moment it felt like a steel band was tightening inexorably around his chest, squeezing the breath from his lungs, and then he sucked in a deep gulp of air as tenderness and fierce, possessive triumph roared through him, snaking like fire through his veins and banishing the lingering tendrils of cold that had seeped into his very bones during his long isolation from true human interaction on a basic, emotional level. He suddenly realized that she was waiting, tense, for his response, and he gave her a fang-filled smile._

"_Demi." It was a sigh, a caress, and an answering warmth lit her face as her fear that her trust had been misplaced dissolved. "Demi." He repeated, and the love that filled him made him want to sweep her up into his arms and howl his joy to the world. Instead, he offered her his arm, his eyes aglow with happiness. "Shall we?"_

_She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, a blissful smile lighting her face, and they left the lab together._

Hank felt a suspiciously hot stinging in his eyes as he recalled those coveted hours in the laboratory, when she had been his alone. He had seen a different side of her in those stolen moments when she let her guard down, baring her soul to him. They had shared their hopes, their dreams and, sometimes, their fears. To the world, she presented the detached, god-like façade, cool and distanced so that it set her apart. To him, she showed the true source of her radiance, her giving heart, her pure spirit and, he thought with amusement, her passionate nature. For a moment it felt like someone had wrapped their fist around his heart and squeezed.

"_I told you, I don't want to talk about it!" She leapt from the bed, eyes flashing, and with a sweep of her arm the delicate instruments on his desk were sent crashing to the floor, their fragments glittering snidely as they shattered there._

_Hank, whose temper usually manifested in softly icy words and polite remoteness, exploded, jumping up from his own chair roaring, "That was hundreds of pounds worth of equipment you have just obliterated, woman!"_

_Her lips curled back from her teeth in a scornful snarl. "I warned you not to push me! I'm here of my own free will, and I won't answer questions that I don't want to!"_

_For a moment he panted with fury, struggling with the oxymoronic urges to strangle her and kiss her senseless. After a moment, he replied with ominous civility. "I would thank you to remove yourself from my laboratory immediately, madam. I simply will not have anyone demolishing my valuable apparatus." Her lips curled into a silky smile that provoked him beyond all control once again, and his fist came down with a crash on the nearest work bench. "I said-"_

_She swayed forwards, still smiling that satisfied, smug smile. Her voice was softly caressing, her eyes as hard as diamonds. "Get out then, Henry."_

"_What?" He snapped, infuriated._

"_If you simply 'will not have anyone demolishing valuable apparatus'," she mimicked in a sweetly dangerous voice, "Then you had better get your blue, furry ass out of here right now!" Her voice rose to an incensed shriek. "Because you have just single-handedly broken more of your stupid little tubes and beakers than I could manage in a month!"_

_Hank looked down the length of his arm at where the work bench had stood. In his anger, he hadn't realized that the worktable had cracked in two, sending every single fragile, glass instrument on it sliding down to its doom on the floor below. For a moment his eye twitched and the vein in his neck throbbed with new heights of fury. Gaia took half a step back, suddenly conscious of the corded strength of his muscles. She noticed that his shoulders were shaking, and remorse stung her._

"_Hank?" She said tentatively, resting a hand on his arm._

_He turned to face her and she saw, to her cross amusement, that he was clutching his stomach in silent laughter. Confused, and ready to let loose the sharp edge of her tongue again, she caught sight of the only survivor of the disaster. Her mouth twitched, and although she bit her lip the delicious gurgle of laughter escaped her anyway. Hank abruptly straightened, staring at her with wide yellow eyes, and then they both collapsed in helpless hilarity. Finally their amusement died, but for the odd chuckle, until he reached down and plucked the fortune item from the floor._

_He contemplated it for a long, silent moment, before holding it out to her. "Twinkie?" He asked solemnly._

_When Jean looked in on them half an hour later, she found them both slumped on the floor, tears streaming down their faces, weak with laughter._

Even now, Hank felt his lips quiver at the memory. She had been so magnificent in her anger, a goddess of vengeance. And then their laughter… He still marveled at her ability to throw so much of herself into everything she did. She was so passionate, so full of vitality, so _alive_ that it made him want to weep. At the thought, his smile faded and another memory overcame him.

"_Demi?" Hank queried anxiously. They had been discussing her time in the forest a few months after her arrival, the first time she had agreed to it without a sharp warning to 'mind his own business', when suddenly she had stilled and the blood had drained from her face._

_After a moment she looked up at him. "I killed someone." Her voice was raw with pain, but there was a curious emptiness about it, and he noted with some surprise and the first stirrings of alarm that her hands were curled into fists, the knuckles white at the pressure. Then her words registered and he stiffened._

"_Pardon?" He winced at the frosty tone of his voice, already berating himself. Surely she didn't mean that she killed someone for no reason?_

"_I killed a man." She reiterated, staring into the distance with eyes that didn't see. "I used to sleep on one of the branches above the ground; I rarely bothered with clothing any more, because nobody ever came that far into the wood, and the trees usually warned me if they did. But this time, I was too deeply asleep to hear them, and I woke just as he pulled me off the branch."_

_She was shaking, and when Hank breathed in this time, the salty tang of blood hit his nostrils. He glanced down sharply, gently prying open her fingers, taking a hissing breath in when he saw the bloody crescents her nails had left in her palms. She didn't seem to notice._

"_I hit the ground hard; I think I must have been knocked out for a moment, because the next thing I remember is waking up with him on top of me. I could feel his breath on my face, and I couldn't breathe because he was crushing my lungs and then I heard his zipper and I realized what he wanted to do." She took a deep breath, but he could see her trembling now, great shudders of revulsion. "I panicked. I struggled, but he just laughed. And I felt a wave of the strongest hatred…" She was silent for a moment. "I screamed, and something just _snapped _inside me. There was a surge, and then one of the branches bent and just… swatted him aside. Like he was a bug. I remember hearing something crack, and then he hit the floor and was still."_

_She closed her eyes. "I knew he was dead even before I checked. And the worst thing was, for a moment, I felt _good._ I knew I had killed him, and I was happy. I felt strong, dominant, and the rush was incredible." Hank thought she looked like the thought nauseated her now as her eyes opened and bored into his, wide and staring. "Oh God, Hank." Anguish. "What kind of monster feels like that?"_

_He gently squeezed her hand, suddenly aware of the fragility she hid so well but which ran so deep. "A human one, my lo- Demi. A human one."_

He was brought back to reality when the scanners bleeped their success. Despite her air of calm confidence, Ororo pounced on them, locking in the coordinates and sending the Blackbird arching after the rapidly fleeing FOH members. As she guided it down into a patch of trees, out of sight of their quarry. As it settled with a gentle bump, which Logan noted aloud with a smirk was smoother than any of Cyclops' efforts, she turned and eyed them, undoubtedly in command.

"We wait until dark," she ordered, looking her two teammates in the eyes. "And then we move."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The screaming had begun about an hour ago. When the first cry had reached them, Hank had leapt to his feet, fists clenched, fangs bared in an angry snarl. He dimly heard the wet, tearing slither of Logan's claws extending, but the rising sounds of pain from over the hill behind which they hid blocked out everything else. He started forward, but Storm's sharp, low voice stopped him.

"Stand down." His fists tightened. "I said stand down._ That's an order, Beast._"

Slowly he relaxed, dropping back to crouch beside Logan, who reluctantly sheathed the claws. Storm stared at them with coldly questioning eyes, and both men nodded grudgingly. They would stick to the plan; to do otherwise would be too great a risk. If they were seen, the vindictive bastards would no doubt kill Gaia before they could reach her.

As the sun crept lower on the horizon, Hank was wracked with fierce agony. Every new scream from below was a knife blade, twisting in his heart, but the worst were the pitiful moans he could only just make out, even with his enhanced hearing. Those tore at him, rousing the slumbering beast for which he was named until it roared inside him, demanding he go to his mate and stop her pain. Only the knowledge that it would get her killed stopped him from obeying that overpowering desire.

Finally, the sky was red with the dying light of sunset, and Hank looked at Storm, his usually genial face suddenly hard and feral. She looked from him to Logan and, inwardly, she shivered. There was something savage about them, crackling in the air around them, a primal lust for blood and retribution. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, repeating the mantra drummed into her head by the Professor. _Stay calm: assess the situation, formulate the plan, instigate, get out. _

She nodded.

Logan melted away instantly, in that peculiar, innate manner of all animals; there was always a certain air of wildness about him, but as he left she thought she caught the faintest hint of a wolfish, chilling smile on his lips. Dimly she heard the familiar _rrrriipp_ of the claws emerging, and she swallowed hard. Beast turned and stalked in silence around the other side of the hill; for all his usual gentleness, Storm realized that in this situation, he might turn out to be the sharper side of the pincers they formed.

She counted a minute silently, taking long, steadying breaths as she waited for the men to get into position. Then she tilted her head back and rose slowly into the air, feeling the familiar buzz of her power fill her body, her eyes clouding. She felt it as each drop of moisture in the air became heavier, cooler, thickening to form a dense cloud of fog that rolled down the hill and towards the crude camp the FOH soldiers had formed there.

In the half minute before the mist covered them from view, she hovered over the figures on the ground, white eyes scanning the picture before widening in horror. Her mouth dropped open as the clouds overhead darkened to mirror her fury. The Professor, sitting in his office at the mansion, bolted upright in his chair as her mingled disgust and rage thundered against his mental barriers. He closed his eyes, reaching out to her over the faint thread that linked him to her.

'Storm.'

The Professor's sharp, crisp voice cracked like a whip in her mind. She forced her emotions down, cramming them into a tiny box she would later open and review, deep in meditation, where she could control her emotions enough not to have them influence her power.

When she felt calmer, he reached out again. 'Storm, report.'

Instead of taking the time to talk him through it, she opened her mind to him, and felt his psyche slide into and meld with her own. She looked down again, noting the fog bank now consuming the outer edge of the camp, and she felt the Professor's rigidly controlled revulsion like her own. He withdrew with a brief command.

'Get her out.'

Below them, Gaia was tied to a crucifix by what looked like green electrical wire. Blood streaked her arms in long smears from her wrists, where it had bitten into the tender flesh, and dripped into a crimson puddle below her. A twisted crown of barbed wire sat of her head, and from the remains of the brambles around her, Storm could guess that they had tried, at first, to use thorns. A cold smile slipped over her lips. She hoped her cousin had made it hurt.

The fog was starting to obscure the tall mutant from view now, but the image of her was burned into Storm's retinas: her body was slack in its bindings, her weight hanging limply from her shoulders, one of which was swollen and stiff. Her chin rested on her chest, her head bowed, her tangled hair, greasy and sweat-dampened, obscuring her face. She was naked, her body littered with thin, shallow cuts. Aversion and relief swirled in her mind as Storm realized that the wounds, while probably stinging and painful, were not deep enough to be fatal, unless they were left untended and she bled to death.

The mist swept her from view, and with a clap of her hands, the weather goddess called forth a rumble of thunder; the air around her heated at the friction, and she basked in the comforting warmth.

On the ground, Hank heard the signal and leapt into action. Although the fog blinded their enemies, Logan and Hank, with their enhanced senses, could find their way through it easily enough. Inhaling a vast lungful of air, he prowled after her familiar scent, the coppery tang of blood making his fingers crook ready to claw the life from her tormentors. He reached her side quickly, ignoring the terrible screams of agony from the murk around them; Logan had been given the job of distracting Gaia's captors.

Fishing the old-fashioned multiple-feature penknife out of his pocket, Hank silently thanked Logan for the gift; after he had taken ten minutes to untie a knot of rope on his first mission, the clawed mutant had thrust it at him with a grunt, saying that he would definitely need it more. When Hank had stammered his thanks, Logan had snorted and sauntered away. Now, Hank yanked the tiny wire clippers out of the body of the device, carefully reaching down to free her feet. The smell of charred flesh made his stomach roll, and he fought not to gag. The clippers made short work of the thin wire holding her in place, but he cringed when he had to pull it out of the lacerated flesh of her ankles.

He gently supported her midriff with one large, leather-clad shoulder as he moved to release her hands. The clippers slipped in blood, and it took three fumbling efforts before he had cut her down. Her weight collapsed over his shoulder, and as he turned some instinct made him jump sideways, leaning slightly to balance with the unaccustomed load on one side. The knife which would have caught him between the shoulder blades instead flashed across his arm, leaving a streak of hot pain in its wake.

He bared his teeth at the tall, heavily muscled man facing him, the fog condensing and mingling with the fear-sweat on his shaven head, and stepped forward just as the knife swung back for another try. He gripped the man's wrist and clenched his fingers. Feral satisfaction made the Beast purr as bones snapped and the man screamed in agony. Thrusting his face close to the whimpering soldier's, he smiled chillingly.

"This is for her."

Leaning back, he released the man's wrist and backhanded him, putting the whole of his considerable strength behind it. The blow sent his foe flying, neck twisting, and Hank wanted to howl in delight when he heard the crunch of the FOH scum's spine snapping under the pressure. A rasping, pained breath from the woman he was carrying made him turn away, and he loped back towards the path that circled the hill.

He was shocked but savagely pleased to realize that the screams of terror he had been hearing had fallen silent; the Wolverine had visited his vengeance upon their enemies, and the animal part of him was soothed by the knowledge that it had been bloody and painful. The coppery scent was stronger now, almost overpowering, and Hank was glad when he emerged from the fog into the dusk.

Moving quickly, he rounded the hill and headed for the Blackbird. Logan appeared at his side, making him jump and pull back his fist; when it registered that there was no threat, he dropped back into his ground-eating stride. Storm was waiting at the controls, and as soon as they had boarded and Hank had secured Gaia in the cot used to carry injured team-members and buckled himself in, she guided the jet up and set a course for the School.

It took a few minutes, but as soon as 'Ro nodded her permission, Hank was up out of his seat and heading for the back of the plane, where the traveling infirmary supplies were kept. He had intended to pass by Logan's seat, but as he drew abreast of his companion, he ground to a halt, yellow eyes widening with dawning incredulity.

"Logan, is that…" He swallowed hard before clearing his throat. "I believe you have an- an ear stuck to your arm."

Logan raised an eyebrow, lifting his hand off the armrest and turning it over, twisting to look at the underside of his upper arm. He grunted, plucking the slightly shriveled body part from his leather sleeve and looking at it indifferently. After a moment, he opened his mouth and lifted the ear. The sound of Hank's retching from beside him made him snigger, a wicked smirk curling over his lips. "It's alright, Blue. I'm just shittin' you."

Hank, looking nauseated, hurried past him and headed for the bunk where Gaia's still body lay. The sight of her pale, pain-filled face made his hands tremble with rage, but he breathed deeply through his mouth, in no hurry to smell the maddening scent of her blood again, and the trembling stopped. With the high-quality but necessarily basic instruments available to him on the jet, he performed a cursory physical examination.

Her heart rate was slow but steady, as though she knew she was in safe hands, but the breath rasped in her lungs, and her temperature was too high. Working quickly, he connected her to an intravenous drip to restore the fluids she had lost, cursing the need for refrigeration which prevented them from storing blood on the jet, except for missions expected to be particularly violent, when they carried it in a transport cooler.

His large fingers were still agile, and he deftly cleaned and carefully bandaged the cuts in a matter of minutes; the surgical neatness of the injuries sickened him. Finally he came to her face, and some unknown pressure in his chest made his breathing shallow, his eyes stinging with tears of fury and fear which he let fall unchecked, the detached, scientific part of his mind telling him that this was an outlet for the adrenaline only now fading from his body, leaving him feeling drained and weary.

He clenched his fists, forcing his emotions down until they were under control before he became useless with relief. Inspecting her face, he winced and felt another hot flash of fury surge within him. It was untouched, except for the formerly smooth skin of her right cheek. That was marked by a crudely shaped 'M', carved into the tender flesh under her cheekbone. It would need stitching, Hank thought distantly, concentrating on breathing deeply to force away the simmering heat of his wrath.

As he settled beside her head, watching the monitors beeping comfortingly overhead, he heard Storm's cool voice. "ETA five minutes, Professor. A stretcher and bearers will be required in the hangar immediately on landing." A pause. "I know, sir. But they deserved it. Over and out."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

**A/N: **I need ideas for another of the X-men to match up with my second **male** Elemental. Feel free to give me the names of any of the characters you'd like to see in that story!

**Chapter 7**

Hank felt his eyelids drooping again, and jerked upright with a start; without him realizing it, his head had nodded forward onto his chest for the third time that night. He glanced up at the clock, squinting past the blurriness of his vision, and corrected himself with a groan. That made the third time this morning. He straightened in his seat, grimacing at the protests of his muscles, expressing themselves with the sharp aches that signified he had been in one position for far too long. His eyes felt gritty and dry, and he closed them against the dizzy feeling of the room spinning around him. His tongue cleaved to the roof of his mouth. All in all, my man, he thought fuzzily, you are exhibiting most of the known symptoms of fatigue.

After a moment he forced his eyes back open, waiting for the room to slide back into focus. When it did, he carefully made his way over to the part of the laboratory designated as the infirmary. From where he had been sitting, the reassuring, steady beeping of the monitors had easily reached his sensitive ears, but he had found that he experienced the urge to see for himself that she was still there, still breathing. Still with him.

He sank gratefully into the custom-built, padded chair he used on the rare occasions he sat down in the lab; the standard size seats manufactured by machines were too small and unable to support his weight, so the Professor had asked Logan, who enjoyed working with his hands, to make Hank his own chair. Rogue, who had hovered around watching Wolverine work, had added the soft, welcoming layers of padding herself, wrapping the whole thing in leather, which, she shyly told him, would be much easier to brush the inevitable blue fuzz from.

With a sigh, he smoothed a trailing strand of long, dark hair back from her face. He resisted the urge to lift the bandage and check the progress of the wound on her cheek. He knew it would scar, and worse than it might have done. Another surge of anger stole his breath, and he scrubbed one hand over his tired face, feeling drained and exhausted.

When they had returned to the mansion, the stretcher had been on hand. Scott and Bobby carried it, and as they came forward to move her onto it Hank's control over his temper slipped slightly. He bared his teeth and, disconnecting the IV bag and resting it against one furry shoulder, lifted her gently into his arms. Seeing the way he held the unnaturally tall, beautiful woman, as though she was a fragile doll, and seeing Hank's pain mirrored in his golden eyes, Bobby suddenly realized that the genius' feelings for Gaia ran deeper than he had ever suspected.

The giant blue mutant laid her carefully on the stretcher and held the IV drip up as the two men bore her down to the infirmary. When they arrived there, Hank was surprised not to find Jean waiting for him; usually when a team member was injured, she was already gloved and expectant by the time they came in. This time, he was obliged to oversee his friends as they transferred her to a bed before sanitizing his hands and reconnecting the drip.

Scott, who looked grimmer than Hank had ever seen him before, vanished to join the debriefing session while Bobby lingered. He watched as the doctor set up another IV feed, this one allowing precious blood to flow back into her body, before moving to her head to examine the sluggishly bleeding carving on Gaia's fever-flushed cheek.

"Robert." Hank said, in that quiet tone of voice that told his young friend that he was in 'doctor mode' and would not tolerate disobedience. "Would you ask Jean to come to the infirmary immediately, please? This will require some delicate stitching, and her fingers are nimbler than mine by far."

Bobby, who had known that this moment was coming and had dreaded it, swallowed hard. "I can't, Hank."

The genius swung around, eyes narrowing as he gritted his teeth angrily. "And why, may I ask, can you not carry out this simple request?"

The young mutant met his friend's tawny eyes steadily, although they snapped with barely restrained rage. "Because she's not here." Seeing the incredulous expression overcoming Hank's face, he continued quietly, "She said that Gaia couldn't be injured too badly if you had been able to wait until dark before rescuing her, and that you would be able to tend her yourself. She went out to meet someone about speaking at a conference next week."

For one terrifying moment, the full extent of his friend's incandescent wrath shone in his round eyes, and Bobby quailed, though he knew he was not the target of the all-consuming fury. Then Hank snapped back into 'doctor mode', coolly donning the special, claw-resistant gloves he had a seemingly endless supply of and fetching from its vacuum packet a thin needle. As he threaded it with totally steady hands, Bobby marveled silently at the control his blue comrade exerted; he knew, without a doubt, that it had been the Beast he had been looking at for those few moments, and he shuddered at the knowledge that Hank had to live with and struggle to control that every minute of every day.

"Robert." The voice was calmly professional again. "Would you object to disinfecting your hands and donning gloves?"

Wordlessly, the fair-haired mutant did so. He approached the bed warily. "What do you want me to do, Hank-meister?"

For a moment an irritated frown flicked across the blue face, and Bobby had to suppress a sigh of relief. Had he got no reaction to the hated nickname, he would have been worried. Then he swallowed as Hank answered, "If you would be so good as to assist me, will you please hold De- Gaia's head still whilst I stitch this… monstrosity shut?"

Bobby had taken a steadying breath and looked away, gingerly anchoring her head as Hank bent to his task.

The memory made the genius close his eyes in disgust. He remembered the moment he had taken the Hippocratic Oath, had vowed to spend his life saving the lives of others. Jean, who had once been his hopeless, silent love, who had been the role model for so many young, female mutants, had taken that oath. And Jean - beautiful, compassionate Jean - had shattered it without a second thought.

He would have continued to brood over his grief and anger indefinitely, his brain foggy with overtiredness, his heart aching, but suddenly there was a hitch in the monitor which was recording her brain activity. He anxiously scanned the glowing screen, feeling his heart-rate increase anxiously, but then he heard the sweetest music: her low, pained moan.

Bending over her, he gently kissed her brow, clammy with the cold sweat of fever, murmuring, "Demi, my love, come back to me."

Someone was calling her. She tried to open her eyes, but it felt like they were weighed shut, as though her eyelashes had turned to lead. When she tried to speak, her tongue felt swollen and thick, and all that came out was a muffled groan. But someone was calling her, calling her by the name that nobody knew, and so she had to try. She swallowed, and suddenly she was aware of the pain that lurked behind the temporary wall between her and it, induced by drugs. It was waiting, and so she had to try, before the hurt came back.

Hank watched as her eyelids slowly rose until she was looking at him blearily, the strange lacework of light that seemed to flicker across her eyes hidden behind the glaze of fever and painkillers. Her tongue tried to dampen her lips with the little moisture available, and her voice was a harsh croak, a parody of its usual rich fullness.

"Hank?"

"I'm here. You will be alright. We got you out." He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat. "We got you out."

It took a moment for comprehension to dawn on her face, and then her eyes, too bright for good health, burning with feverish intensity, widened in remembered fear. She shifted on the bed in agitation, but the movement made her scrunch her face up and keen in pain. Her free hand rose to her cheek in response to the sharp bite of agony there, but it slowly slid down as her eyes began to shut again.

"Demi! Stay awake, my love. Please!" He called desperately, stroking her sweat-sodden hair.

After a few seconds of tense waiting, her eyes blinked open again. "I'm sorry, Hank."

"There is nothing to be sorry for, dear heart." He murmured soothingly, the endearment slipping out without conscious thought.

Tears gathered in her extraordinary eyes and she suddenly snatched up his hand, gripping it so tightly that, had he been a normal man, she would have broken it.

"I tried to be brave, Hank. I know a brave person wouldn't have screamed, but it hurt." She whimpered, and he was alarmed to note that her temperature seemed to be increasing. He looked up at the heart monitor, and his breath caught as panic slammed into his chest like a fist. Her heart rate was rising rapidly. He tried to drag his hand away so he could help, but she just clasped it harder. "I tried, I did." She gasped for air, and he could clearly hear it rasping painfully in her lungs. "But I'm not a hero. I couldn't help myself, but they didn't stop, I screamed but they didn't stop." For a heartbreaking moment, her lost, confused eyes met his. "Hank… Help me. Alvini!"

Her hand dropped limply from his, her spine arching painfully, her muscles going rigid as a spasm shook her. Her head snapped backwards, her mouth opening in a silent gasp, but no air passed into her lungs. He trapped her flailing arms, shouting for help even as he watched her lips begin to turn blue from lack of oxygen, her eyes bulging from her head. Bobby raced into the room, swearing when he saw Hank struggling to control her twisting body. He threw himself forward, cushioning her head with his hands as it flew up and smacked back down against the mattress.

After what felt like hours, but was only about a minute, the seizure suddenly died away. Her muscles twitched once or twice, but her heart settled into a slightly elevated rhythm. As he pressed a stethoscope to her chest in terror, Hank went weak at the knees when he heard the reassuring sound of her deep, slow breaths, free of that horrifying, rattling rasp. He sank into his chair, his aching eyes closing of their own accord, squeezing a single tear onto his cheek. Bobby rested a hand on his massive shoulder, privately shocked by how desperate his friend looked.

And all I have is something that might raise false hopes, he thought grimly, there's nothing concrete.

Hank straightened in his seat, resting his head against the comfortably soft headrest. He spoke without opening his eyes, his usually resonant voice flat. "How did you arrive so quickly? The laws of physics dictate that you cannot have made it from the ground level to here so soon after my summons; it is a physical impossibility." His lips quirked into a weary half-smile at the unintended pun.

The young mutant deliberately gentled his tone, and there was no trace of his usual, mocking edge. "Hank… I don't know if this is good news or bad news."

The genius stiffened, but his voice remained level. "Pray tell, Robert. You see me positively agog."

Bobby took a deep, fortifying breath. "I know why she's so sick." Hank looked up sharply. "I'm right, aren't I? She shouldn't be this bad, even though she was hurt." His friend's lips thinned and he nodded slightly. "I don't know if this is it, but… I mean, I might be wrong…" The mingling of fear and hope in the glowing golden eyes was painful to behold. "I'm pretty sure that something's wrong with Gaia's Tree."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

A small crowd watched anxiously as Hank walked around the Tree, running one hand lightly over the bark. The memory of Gaia's reaction last time he had touched the vast trunk made him blush, and he fought to control his unruly body; there was no way his physical reaction to the thought would go unnoticed under his lab coat. He leaned close, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed curiously, frowning. A rush of subtle scents washed over his olfactory palate, and he adjusted the half-moon glasses perched on his nose; his eyes were so tired, they required the assistance of the weak lenses in order to remain in focus, despite the nature of his mutation.

He identified most of the various odors with ease. The dominant one was the rich, woody smell of the tree itself, of course, but there was the slight sweetness of its sap, the familiar, crisp fragrance of its leaves, which he had so often smelt on Gaia's skin, and others. Then his brows snapped together, and he drew in another long breath, pausing in his inspection. There, lingering in the faintest breath of scent below the unique perfume of her Tree, was the sour, damp reek of sickness and rot.

Hank straightened abruptly, ignoring the gritty way his eyelids sank over his eyes in desperate exhaustion. Storm was sitting with Gaia in the infirmary, but the fear that formed a hard, cold knot in his stomach urged him on ceaselessly, despite the warning throb in his temples that told him he was pushing his body too hard, and would pay for it at some indistinct point in the near future. Rapidly circling the trunk, he came to the area where Jean had attempted to harvest a section of the bark. He placed his palm near the cut, and the drawn-out creak that seemed to vibrate outwards from the very heart of Gaia's Tree made the fine hairs on the back of his neck rise; the abnormal warmth of the bark under his fingers made it feel eerily like human flesh and blood he was touching.

Taking a swift, somewhat embarrassed look around the trunk at the assembled students and faculty, he directed at the Professor a beseeching gaze.

Charles chuckled to himself before turning, ignoring the quiet hum and whirr of his mechanical wheelchair, though it now always brought to mind Logan's joke about 'Chuck' being too dignified to drive stick, what with his expensive automatic on hand all the time. He straightened his face, sternly commanding the tell-tale twitch at the corner of his mouth to disappear, and surveyed the avid watchers with his kind, authoritative stare. After a few moments, the students looked away and sheepishly shuffled back into the building.

The staff audience was made of stronger stuff, but Charles, still watching them, merely moved onto the next item in his repertoire. They had stood firm in the face of The Stare, but even they could not endure the cool indifference of The Eyebrows. They rose fractionally, as if in idle curiosity. _Why are you still here? _They seemed to say, only faintly surprised that The Stare had not been enough to enforce their command. In the face of such resolution, even the faculty felt their determination waver and crumble. They, too, filed slowly back into the building and the Professor turned to see Hank regarding him with a solemn expression, although the tired golden eyes twinkled merrily.

Charles nodded gravely, and Hank turned back to look at the trunk in front of him. Despite the shrinking in the number of observers, his ears still turned a little pink under their blue fur as he cleared his throat, casting a self-conscious glance at the Professor. "Uh… I beg your pardon, my friend, but I, er, find myself in need of an, um, aerial view."

Ignoring the discreet 'coughing' from the Professor's direction, he gingerly lifted himself up into the lower branches, feeling a flood of heat stain his cheeks as he imagined the strangeness of the sensations it must be causing Demi, pausing on a thick branch, carefully mapping his path upwards; he didn't want to damage her Tree by putting too much weight on branches unable to support it. He was about to continue his ascent when a sense of déjà vu made him hesitate, frowning.

He glanced down and froze, an arrested expression on his face. Slowly, a lazy, sensual smile spread over his lips, baring his fangs to the sultry heat of the morning. His long, agile toes gripped his perch as his eyes drifted to half mast in remembered pleasure. This was the branch she had been sitting on when he and Logan had found her, balanced easily above them in all her… natural glory. The memory made him shiver in guilty delight; try as he did, he had never been able to banish that glorious image from his healthy fantasy life. Indeed, she had filled it to the exclusion of all else since the day she had rescued him from his hunters.

A less discreet cough from the direction of the Professor made him start, his pointed ears turning crimson. He quickly climbed into the upper reaches of the tree, settling there comfortably, hooking his powerful legs around a thick enough branch and suspending himself upside down. A mischievous glance downward made him smile in glee; the Professor was looking a little green, as it was a little-known fact that he had no head for heights.

Getting down to business, he carefully bent a thin, flexible twig towards him, taking care not to damage either stem or leaf. He shifted his knees a little further off the branch, bracing himself as his torso dropped a few inches. "Better." He murmured absently, ignoring the soft drone of the Professor's wheelchair as he hurriedly vanished back towards his office, his usually iron-like nerves rapidly threatening to unravel.

Studying the leaves intently, as he had done on a few occasions before, he saw little difference from their normal state. They were a strange shape, unlike anything he had ever seen before. Like most oak leaves, they were segmented, divided into broad peaks, but these funneled into a long, slender section of leaf, as narrow as his little finger, rounding into a bulb at the very base, where it sprouted from the woody twig. They were soft to the touch, coated with a slight shine that made the sensitive pads of his fingers glide over them smoothly, and the delicate tracery of veins stood out against the emerald colour of the leaves' bodies, a pale green that exactly matched the shade of Demi's eyes. All in all, it was a magnificent specimen of… whatever kind of tree it was, Hank had often reflected.

Stumped, he was about to climb back down when, as though there had been a target painted there, a single leaf drifted down from above and settled on the underside of his lower jaw. He stopped, hanging by only one leg, the other already suspended in midair in preparation for an athletic dismount. Carefully, he plucked it from where it rested, tickling his chin, and leapt lightly down from his bough, cradling the fragile offering gently in one vast hand.

Standing at the base of the Tree, he rested a hand lightly on the warm bark, staring at it in admiration. After a moment he inclined his head slightly. "Thank you… Alvini."

One of the branches shifted overhead, and though he later told himself that it was his imagination, he thought that the resultant creak sounded faintly surprised. He smiled, glancing furtively around to be sure that he was alone, then patted the strangely life-like bark.

"Old Norse is a fascinating subject; she told me that she worked in the archive section of a large library for a summer. It is a fitting name indeed, 'noble friend'."

Keeping a cautious watch on the leaf in his hand, pinned to his palm by the tip of one large finger, he hurried back into the Mansion. Without stopping he headed down to the lab and, pausing only to look in on Demi to reassure himself that she was still with him, lowered himself heavily into his chair. With infinite care, he deposited the leaf on his work bench and hunched over it, forcing his aching, dry eyes to remain in focus.

It took him a surprisingly small amount of time to diagnose the problem, the symptoms being easily recognizable, he later commented to Scott, in one who had helped to stem several threatening epidemics of the disease.

"_Ceratocystis fagacearum._" He announced in heartfelt relief, holding out the leaf to the Professor and the select gathering of mutants in his plush office. "More commonly known as 'oak wilt'. It is a fungus most commonly spread through root grafting in an oak community. However it can be spread by insects alighting on fresh wounds to the tree." He paused here for a moment, and although she was not present, every person in the room thought of Jean and, seeing Hank's fists clench so hard his knuckles crackled ominously, not even Scott could find it in himself to defend her.

"The fungus infects the xylem, causing the tree to from tyloses, which prevents…" Seeing the blank faces of his audience, he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between two clawed fingers. "To put it in rudimentary form, the fungus causes the tree to effectively commit suicide by dehydrating itself."

"Oak wilt can be difficult to diagnose, as it shares it symptoms with many other diseases and infections, but I have ruled the majority of those out and, having calculated the probability of the remainder occurring in the exact time, season, place and situation, I can conclude that my first hypothesis was, in fact, the correct one." Hank beamed at their bemused faces. "The common treatment for oak wilt is to inject a compound called 'propiconazole', a type of fungicide. I would have liked to have tried this on Gaia's Tree."

The smile faded from his face, leaving him looking haggard and worn. "The disease has progressed so far that I think the only option is to cure Gaia herself. I would conjecture that, once she is cured sufficiently, she will be able to set things to rights through their link. In order to do this, I have created five possible… cures for her condition, which will stimulate the neural responses required to make her body function on an everyday level until she can heal her Tree."

He looked around the room, his broad, strong shoulders slumping in exhaustion. "However, I cannot know without extensive testing which will produce the desired effect, a process which would take me at least a day even with assistance, unless..." He gritted his teeth so hard the muscle in his jaw rippled. "Unless I have a live test subject."

A long, tense silence followed this declaration. Then Logan rose slowly to his feet, his eyes on Hank's. "I'll do it."

A wave of relief so powerful it nearly knocked him over swept over Hank, but even now he could smell the tang of sweat suddenly emanating from Logan's body, and could see it beading on his creased brow. Innate honesty moved his lips when he desperately wanted to keep them still, though that he desired such a thing shamed him to his very core. "Logan, are you certain? Your… dislike of the lab runs deep." Seeing the hard glitter of determination in his friend's eyes, Hank hastily continued, "I am very much afraid that claw marks would not at all match the décor, you see."

The tension was diffused as everybody laughed, but it was plain to see that Logan was struggling against the deep-rooted terror instilled in him by his traumatic experiences in a laboratory. "Let's get this over with." He muttered, stalking towards the door.

"I'll do it."

The soft voice came from the very back of the room, where Rogue had, until now, sat unnoticed. She rose to her feet, her long, thick hair with its two identifying streaks of white forming a curtain over her face. Her eyes were cast down, but Hank could see the slight twist to them that indicated her sincerity.

Logan's brows snapped together and he opened his mouth to bark a refusal, but the genius shook his head. "It might be better if Rogue does it, Logan. She is genetically much closer to Gaia, after all." This garnered a few weak smiles.

"It won't hurt her?" The low growl was intended only for Rogue and Hank's ears.

"It shouldn't." He replied honestly.

The rumbling deep in Logan's chest suggested that he was about to refuse her offer, but Rogue laid one small, gloved hand on his arm and the deep, menacing sound cut off immediately. Hank silently marveled at the power such a small girl could wield over such a notoriously gruff, powerful man.

"It would help me, too, Logan." Her voice was soft, coaxing. "Hank needs to get used to working on me anyway, in case…" She winced as the rumbling growl returned. "In case I ever skin my knee or something. You know how I am, 'klutz' doesn't begin to cover it. Come on, Logan, you go scare some of the first years instead. Hank 'n' me'll be just fine." She smiled her shy, Southern-girl smile at her burly protector, firmly steering Hank out of the room as she spoke.

They were silent until they reached the infirmary. It wasn't until Rogue sat down on one of the free cots, however, that her pale face and shaking hands, and the acrid stink of fear, hit the blue mutant all at once. "Rogue?" He questioned, frowning. Then, seeing her swallow hard and clench her teeth, his eyes widened in comprehension.

"You're afraid of the lab, too, aren't you?"

She ducked her head, the shield of hair sliding over her face again. "Not the lab, needles. I don't like needles." Ordinarily, he would have offered her the nearby 'lab bear' to squeeze and told her it would be over quickly, but the fear-smell was rapidly giving way to the sharper, biting stench of outright terror.

He frowned and pursed his lips, but as he reached for the first of the antidotes, dizziness made him stagger, the world swirling around him. He straightened after a few moments, forcing his fatigue down. Rogue watched him mutely, her eyes huge in her pale face, her fingers clenched tightly in her lap. As he prepared the injection, he spoke softly, not looking up from his task.

"If you are so afraid, Rogue, why did you volunteer?"

"Because I would do anything not to see Logan go through his fear again."

Something in her voice made him look up sharply, and even as he prepared to slide the hated needle into her arm, she met his eyes steadily, and her gaze was suddenly weary and far, far older than it had the right to be.

"And why is that, Rogue?"

She barely flinched as he pressed the point into her skin, her eyes still holding his. "Because I love him."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**A/N: **The story will end with this chapter, for those who do not want to read anything rated 'M', which the next chapter will be. It does not change the ending written here, it just explores the physical side of their relationship a little bit later down the line. So, for those of you stopping here, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it! For those of you continuing, the smut is imminent!

Hank held his breath, watching the monitors carefully. They were on the fourth possible treatment, and so far they had been unsuccessful. This cocktail consisted of propiconazole he had mixed with a neural stimulant, the resultant fluid distilled into a pure form. Rogue was looking paler than ever, her delicate skin coated in a light sheen of sweat, but the arm into which he was administering the injections was steady.

They waited for a few, breathless minutes, but there was silence from the machine which would indicate their success. Hank put his head in his hands, his shoulders slumping. "I was sure that this was the best possible cure. Why did it not work?"

Rogue took a slightly shaky breath. "Come on, there's still one-"

She stopped abruptly, staring at the screen to her left. The scientist lifted his head, frowning. "Rogue, what's…?"

_Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeep. _Hardly able to believe his eyes, he lifted the test tube containing the fourth antidote, the shrill bleeping of the machine ringing in his ears. He eyed the transparent liquid dumbly until Rogue slid down from her perch on the edge of the cot, startling him out of his trance. He blinked at her, eyes round with dawning realization, as she impatiently put her hands to her hips, her eyebrow rising in an eerily Logan-like fashion.

"Well, are you going to get the girl, or not?" She smiled slightly, but a shadow passed over her face briefly.

Sympathy welled in Hank, and he carefully filled a syringe with the cure before setting it down on the flat top of his work bench. Slightly hesitant, he awkwardly patted her cloth-covered shoulder, then stiffened in surprise as she flung herself into his arms, sobbing against his chest and soaking his lab coat. After a few panicky, frozen moments when he experienced the very unmanly urge to run for the metaphorical hills when faced with a crying woman, he enfolded her in a hug; they knew, from past experimentation, that his thick fur formed a protective barrier between her pale, deadly skin and his own.

Her breathing slowly returned to normal, and at last she raised her head and gave him a watery smile. "Thanks. I guess I'm tired, 'cause of the needles and the tests and all. I think I'll go up to bed, if that's alright."

Hank relaxed his arms immediately. The foreign sensation of a woman in them was alarming to say the least, but he felt a rush of brotherly fondness for the diminutive figure drooping so wearily against him. Rogue carefully stepped back, straightening her spine and squaring her shoulders as she did so. As she walked out of the lab, Hank found himself suppressing the urge to give Logan a firm kick up the… rear end.

Turning his attention to his more immediate concern, ignoring the little twinge of guilt at his selfish single-mindedness, he lifted the glass syringe, checking to ensure the plunger was free, and moved to stand beside Demi. He looked down at her, his breath catching in his lungs. Despite the paleness of her skin, her lank hair and the intrusive reek of festering injuries that seemed to have bled into her scent from that of her Tree, a tide of warmth filled him, crushing the air from his chest, squeezing his heart in its silk-gloved fist, until every pore was saturated with the love of her.

The iron band around his chest slackened enough for him to inject the life-saving formula. Pulling up his chair, he settled down to wait, gently holding one of her slender, elegant hands in his own powerful grip. However, as the minutes ticked by, the steady _tick tock_ of the clock seemed to grow louder, until its rhythm filled his mind. His eyelids began to droop, and he wasn't aware of it when his head sank to rest beside her on the bed, but it was to the steady beat of her heart that he drifted at last into restful slumber.

Jean, looking in on them when she returned two hours later, was surprised and irritated to see that they both seemed to be, if not healthy, well on their way to recovery. She walked out of the lab with her briefcase still clasped in one hand, heading for the room she shared with Scott; he had not even allowed her to put it down before almost ordering her down to the infirmary to check on the patient. Walking in, however, she found him sitting on the bed, looking at the door with a curiously blank expression she had never seen before on his handsome face.

A slight frown puckered her brow, but it was instantly smoothed away as she sent out a casual tendril of thought. She was brought back to reality by the harsh laugh that grated in his throat and the abrupt severing of their communication. Although it hadn't hurt her like her total denial of their mental bond had sent him reeling, she was shocked and annoyed by the finality of his rejection.

"Really, Scott, there's no need to be so juvenile. I regret that I pushed you away so hard, but I would like to retain some privacy in such moments."

"Couldn't you have just said that to me then, Jean?"

Exasperated, the redheaded doctor slammed her briefcase down on the nightstand, flicking the latches open. "I had more important things on my mind at the time!"

She didn't notice the way he went suddenly still, but she failed to heed to warning in his level, quiet voice. "More important than Gaia's life?"

"She's one woman, Scott! One woman. When I speak publicly, I am representing all of mutant kind. Nothing will get in the way of me promoting the Professor's cause."

"Nothing?" This time the odd, flat inflection reached her, and she swung around, brows snapping down into what would have been, on someone less dignified, a scowl, but he cut her off by laughing, an ugly, rasping mockery of its usual rich sound. "I see. I guess I've known ever since then, but I just couldn't quite believe it."

For the first time, Jean felt a sliver of unease disturb her. "Scott? What are you talking about? Let's just go to bed, and we can talk about this another time."

"No, Jean." His voice was heavy, resigned. That, perhaps more than anything else, touched something in the doctor; Scott never gave up on anything until he was certain it was a lost cause. "That's part of the trouble. Whenever I try to bring up a serious topic, you brush me off, although I listen to you hash out your problems for hours." He put up a hand, cutting her off before she could begin to argue. "And I never complained, because I love you, and I want to help you. But this isn't an equal relationship, Jean, and it never has been. And I don't even think that our love is the most important part of your life any more, is it?"

Her temper fraying, she snapped, "That's incredibly selfish, Scott."

"I know," he replied simply. "But I don't care. Maybe it is selfish, but I want whoever I'm in a relationship with to value it as it deserves to be valued. I _want_ to be first in someone's life. They way you've been behaving recently… I don't know you any more. Relationships take effort if they're going to adapt to new situations, and you don't seem to want to put anything in, even though you're still happy to take."

A cold knot settled in the base of Jean's stomach, but it went unnoticed in the sudden release of her temper. "What are you saying, Scott? That you don't want to be with me any more? Well that's fine! But if you walk out that door tonight, Scott Summers, don't expect to be let back in again." She flung at him, turning her back and climbing into bed. She waited in satisfaction for the mattress to dip under his familiar weight; in the few rough patches they'd gone through before, she'd always been able to persuade Scott to relent. This time would be no different, she thought in irritation. After a few moments, however, she opened her eyes, expecting to see his smooth, muscled chest as he joined her under the duvet.

All she heard was the click of the door shutting behind him as he left.

By the time breakfast was finished in the vast dining hall the next morning, everyone knew that Mr. Summers and Dr. Grey, the house's Golden Couple, had called it off. Jean looked pale but furious while Scott remained seemingly impassive, ignoring the incredulous looks people shot at him as he went by.

Hank, however, knew none of it. He slept soundly until late afternoon, his weak healing factor laboring to banish the draining effects of fatigue as he rested. He awoke to the familiar, sanitized scent of the lab and the less familiar beat of a strong heart close to his head. He straightened in his seat, wincing when his neck muscles tightened into painful knots after so long in one position. He tried to raise his hand to rub away the tension, only to find that it was otherwise engaged. He frowned, looking down, only to blink in bemusement at the sight of a long, undeniably feminine hand resting trustingly in his. It took a moment for reality to register.

"Goodness!" He suddenly leapt upright, taking care to disentangle her fingers from his. "How could I have forgotten?"

"Yes, Hank, I think it's very rude of you." The soft, slightly slurred voice made him jump, and he bent over the still figure of his patient. Glowing green eyes met his hopeful golden ones.

"You're awake." He breathed, entranced by the strangely shy smile that warmed her face.

"Only thanks to you." She reached out, gripping his hand and squeezing gently. "Thank you, Henry McCoy."

Hank blushed to the tips of his pointed ears, losing himself in a morass of embarrassed half-sentences. A slow, sensual smile curved her full lips and, using their joined hands as a lever, she pulled herself up to sit on the bed. And then she leaned forward and, so lightly he almost didn't feel it, she pressed her lips to his.

Languid heat uncurled in his stomach, sending flickering tendrils of fire licking over his limbs. He sighed with delight. After a moment, however, the need that had been lying dormant since their first meeting flared to life and, with a guttural growl, he clamped one hand on the back of her neck, pulling her into his kiss. His lips moved demandingly against hers, and he dimly felt the delicious shiver that coursed through her when he began to thread his fingers through her hair, his claws lightly scratching her scalp. Her tongue hesitantly reached for his, and the smoldering embers of lust roared into an inferno.

He groaned, a throaty, desperate sound, and she answered with a soft whimper. The animal inside him howled at this submissive gesture, and his grip tightened on her neck. He slowly became aware of how fragile she felt under his fingers, and he forced himself to break away. They were both panting for air, but under her flushed cheeks and passion-glazed eyes, she was still pale. She reached out a gentle hand and stroked the soft fur at his throat, her fingers trailing down to toy with the collar of his lab coat.

His eyes gleamed with feral intent, his voice a low growl. "My love, if you continue to do that, I am afraid I shall forget that you are still convalescing."

The hand stilled. "What did you call me?" She breathed, her eyes suddenly shining more brightly than he had ever seen them.

He smiled tenderly, putting his hand over hers and pressing them both to his heart. "My love. My dearest, sweetest love."

She gave a delighted sigh and leaned forward to rest her head against his broad chest; his arms automatically came up in a possessive embrace. "I love you, Hank McCoy. Man and Beast both."

At this total acceptance, he struggled to control the animal, who wanted to sweep her into his arms and make her his, right there on the lab floor. She looked up, and his golden eyes glinted back at her. Under her hand, his voice rumbled wonderfully in his chest. "As soon as you are well, my love, we are going to find a room where we can be private for a long, long time." Then, seeing her wide eyes, he suddenly stiffened and blushed. "Of- of course… that is… If that would be a-amenable to you?"

Demi smiled, lifting her lips to press them on the underside of his jaw, trailing kisses down his neck, lingering over the sensitive spot that made him purr in ecstasy until they were both panting for breath. When she looked up at him, there was a knowing smile on her slightly swollen lips. "I'm looking forward to it." Suddenly her nose wrinkled and she looked down at herself. "But first, I want to be _clean._"

Laughing, he scooped her up into his arms, her long legs draped gracefully over one of his arms, her head pillowed on his shoulder. Ignoring her surprised, undignified squeak, he strode out of the door. "You always look beautiful to me, my love, but I must confess, your ripeness was starting to offend my nose."

Their laughter still echoed long after they had left.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: WARNING

**A/N: **WARNING! Here is the smut, people. Enjoy!

**Chapter 10**

After three weeks of Scott's unusually short temper, which caused him to burst into furious tirades over the smallest things, most people had decided that it was better to avoid him at all costs until the fallout from his and Jean's break-up had blown over. Thus it was that he was hunting for Storm at the same time as Hank was searching for Gaia; they converged on the same point at almost exactly the same second. Scott was sent flying backwards. Hank merely blinked down at the person who had just run into him. After a moment, he bent and helped haul the Fearless Leader to his feet.

Scott was scowling angrily, and he opened his mouth to say something Hank was sure he would later regret, so he cut him off in a very uncivilized manner. "Are you, perchance, looking for Ororo?"

After a tense moment, Scott's frown subsided. "Yeah. Have you seen her?"

Hank smiled genially. "I believe, my friend, that our respective objects are enclosed in the new attic nursery."

Scott nodded curtly, moving ahead of Hank and stomping up the steps; the genius followed warily behind him, careful not to make any sudden moves. The new botanical nursery had been set up two weeks ago by Gaia and Storm, when they had decided that the rooftop garden exposed some of their more delicate plants to too much sunlight. Since then, they had coaxed, ordered or charmed a veritable army of male students and staff into helping them set up their indoor garden. As a result of their determination, it had been finished within the week. Both women spent the majority of their afternoons closeted in the attic, carefully nurturing their charges with loving dedication.

Until now, Hank hadn't ventured up to see the finished product, but he had completed his research early and had wanted to celebrate with Demi. However, as soon as Scott had opened the door and strode purposefully into the nursery, he screeched to a halt, and Hank swore later that he heard the painful _thunk_ as Cyclops' jaw dropped and smacked against his chest. The genius frowned, a little worried, and moved up to stand beside the team leader.

"Scott? What's wr-"

His speech dried up as his eyes fell on the scene that had stopped the indomitable Fearless Leader dead in his tracks. Hank wanted to swallow, but he found that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his suddenly very dry mouth.

The room was almost dark, lit only by the faint, soft glow of the overhead lights lining the sloping roof. The atmosphere seemed intimate and charged with silent voices, as though the two women were sharing a special kind of communion with their green charges. Storm and Gaia sat facing one another in the center of the orderly jumble of flora, cross-legged, their hands resting in their laps, their eyes closed. The warm light made their skin, gleam invitingly like soft velvet, caressing both pale flesh and dark. _A lot_ of flesh.

After a moment, the women stirred. Storm's eyes slowly opened first, then Gaia's. They blinked languidly as identical, sensual smiles curled their lips into delicious bows. Then the taller woman suddenly looked around at the two, her eyes passing over Scott to rest on Hank, who dimly thought that he might be salivating in a disgustingly boorish manner on his chin. Teasing warmth sprang to her eyes, and she rose in one fluid movement, hips swaying invitingly as she made her way over to her speechless genius, winding her arms around his neck.

"Hank?" She purred, pressing those delightful, bare curves against him.

"Yes, my love?" He finally managed, one hand going to press against the small of her back, pulling her tighter against him.

Her hot breath fanned the fur around one elfish ear as she nuzzled against his cheek. "I'm well."

Seeing the glaze on his golden eyes, she grinned and swayed back down the stairs, turning left at the bottom of the steps. It took a moment for her words to register in his lust-addled, genius brain. _Well… Left…Left at the bottom of the stairs is significant, Hank. My stars and garters! My room!_

Stammering an almost incoherent, transparent excuse, he turned and veritably tripped down the stairs, his eagerness robbing him of all his natural, feline grace. Storm, watching him go with a knowing lift of her eyebrows, rose to her feet with all the sinuous grace of a lioness. Scott blinked. Totally unconcerned by her nudity, for she was a child of Nature, and it was not as though Scott had never seen a naked woman before, she made her way to the door. As she passed the Fearless Leader, she gently pressed his jaw closed with one finger, shooting him a wicked smile. He stood there for a long, long time after she had left.

Downstairs, Beast was on the prowl. He stalked through the corridors, eyes glittering, heat surging through him until he was sure his fur was turning red with the power of it. He was glad later, when his mental faculties finally returned, that he hadn't met anyone on his way; they would have known immediately what ailed him, as his physical reaction to his mate's nakedness was straining impatiently for fulfillment.

He reached their door after what felt like hours, and he inhaled the first faint traces of her arousal. A growl built in his throat as he gently pushed the door open, only to be stunned by another fierce wave of possessive lust at the sight that met his eyes.

Demi smiled provocatively from her position, stretched out on her side on his bed. She hadn't, he noticed with appreciation, put any clothes on in the time it took him to join her. She raised a challenging eyebrow at him, crooking a finger. As though magnetized, he padded across the room, stopping to feast his eyes at the side of the bed.

He had seen her naked before, when she had rescued him and on their second meeting, but now he was free to absorb every detail. Her hair was spread across the pillow, _his_ pillow, in a shimmering wave, her pale skin glowing with a pearl-like luster, her lips invitingly full. Her eyes seemed to glow with sultry heat as his gaze slid along her body like a caress, taking in the lush fullness of her breasts, the neat dip of her waist, the teasing flare of her hips and the long, slender length of her legs. Her lips parted as she rolled onto her back, her eyes becoming heavy. He heard her breathing deepen into excited panting under the intensity of his stare, and felt a rush of masculine pride when the rich scent of her arousal suddenly increased, soaking the air between them.

She extended a hand to stop him when he went to climb onto the bed next to her. Confused, and hurt, he stopped, suddenly unsure of himself. "Demi?"

"Strip." She ordered, her voice husky with desire, and the way her pink lips curled around the word, savoring it, made heat pool in his stomach.

He locked his eyes on hers, holding her captive in his intent look as he obeyed, fighting back a wave of fear that threatened to overcome his ardor. His body was not, by any standard, normal, and he didn't want to see the initial shock and distaste that would flit across her face at this first sight of his unclothed figure.

It was to his immense surprise, then, that when he slid his black underwear from his hips, her breath hitched and a low moan, so quiet he wouldn't have been able to hear it had he not had a little extra auditory advantage, vibrated in her throat. Another throb in his loins reminded him of his desire, and he slid onto the bed beside her, his hot gaze making her rub her thighs together in an effort to relieve the ache between them. His hand pressing gently but firmly against her knee forced them to stillness, and she whimpered in distress.

"Now now, my love." His voice was so gravelly that he hardly recognized it himself, but it made Demi give another soft groan. "Surely that is what I am here for?"

Without awaiting her response, he dropped his head and trailed barely-there kisses across the tender skin of her jaw, making her fingers curl and uncurl restlessly. He moved down, pressing hotter, more lingering touches of his lips to her neck, growling in delight when she arched her back, moaning desperately.

"Hank… Oh God, Hank, don't-"

She cut herself off with a choked gasp as an arrow of pleasure bolted to her clit. Hank, rolling her pert, raspberry-colored nipple teasingly between his thick fingers, gave a feral smile, displaying his fangs.

"Don't what, my love? Do this?" He tweaked the responsive bud, making her cry out as a shudder of pleasure wracked her body.

"Oh God, Hank, don't stop, don't stop don't stop…"

She threw her head back, her body writhing in ecstasy as he swooped down to take that same nipple in his mouth, suckling it fiercely so that the aching need pulsing in her core gave a hot throb.

"I won't." He promised between sucks, one large hand sliding teasingly down her flat stomach, toying with the thin, sensitive skin over her hip bone. He lingered there for a while, until the fire building low in her stomach made her grab his wrist and push his hand down between her thighs.

Panting, she glared up at him, looking so thoroughly disheveled and adorable that he want to ravish her on the spot. "Touch me!" She demanded, stormy eyes holding his challengingly.

He chuckled, the vibrations traveling from his chest to her sensitive skin, making it break out in goosebumps. "Only if you ask nicely, my love."

She glared at him for a moment more, but then he glided a light stroke over her folds, gathering the moisture there onto his fingertip, and her resistance vanished as her head rolled back. "Hank, please!"

"Please what?" He rumbled, beginning a slow rub against her clit that threatened to drive her mad.

"Please, please let me come, I need to… need to-"

He firmly pushed one blunt finger into her, reveling in the feel of her muscles tightening around him. After a moment, a slight frown crossed his face as he pushed the digit in further, encountering nothing but distracting warmth.

She forced her eyes open, sensing his hesitation, and seeing his face she smiled slightly. "You won't hurt me, Hank."

For a brief second, such primal jealousy roared through him that he ground his teeth, every muscle going rigid. It passed quickly, however, and he turned to ask in his normal, level voice. "You have some experience, then?"

Seeing his disappointment, and understanding that it was his bestial nature that caused it rather than any disgust of her, she smiled enticingly and rolled them over, pushing his hand away from her body as she slid down his chest. "All the better to please you with."

Then thought and feeling were obliterated from Hank's mind as the wet warmth of her mouth enveloped him. He groaned, nails biting into his palms as he strove not to thrust his hips up into the embrace of her lips. It was a singular experience for Demi who, though not a virgin, was not 'experienced' either. Hank's manhood was as large, blue and furry as the rest of him, though the hair was softer and shorter. Giving him a last, loving lick, she slithered back up his body, pressing her breasts against the hard muscles in his chest.

His golden eyes were burning with a desire so intense it took her breath away, and as he guided her onto him, both of them gasping as he slid home for the first time, they softened with a love so profound it made her tremble. They rocked together, the heat uncurling between them slowly, stirring their very blood as their eyes remained locked, saying in silence what both had already said aloud.

And as he took her hips in his hands, bringing her down hard to meet his final thrusts, driving them both towards the pleasure that was their goal, the love and the desire tightened in both of them to the point of exquisite agony, and then it exploded in a blaze of white that the heavens themselves would be hard pushed to rival.

Later, lying curled in her mate's arms, drifting into the soothing grasp of sleep as echoes of bliss washed over her, Demi heard the slight creak as Alvini shifted a thick branch to block the window, knowing with the innate knowledge of all things wild that his mistress would not want to be disturbed for a very, very long time.


End file.
